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FLORAL BIOGRAPHY. 



FLORAL BIOGRAPHY; 



OR 



CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS 



BI CHAia.OTTE ELIZABETH. "^^ > ^^- 



FOURTH AMERICAN FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION. 



NEW YORK: 
PUBLISHED BY M. W. DODD, 

BRICK CHURCH CHAPEL, CORNER OF PARK ROW AND 



SPRUCE STREETS. 

1842. 



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CONTENTS. 

Page. 
CHAPTER I. 

The Snow-Drop 7 

CHAPTER II. 
The Furze-Bush 24 

CHAPTER III. 
The Shamrock 39 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Heart's. Ease 53 

CHAPTER V. 
The Hawthorn 67 

CHAPTER VI. 

The White Rose 80 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Carnation 91 

, CHAPTER VIII. 
The Evening Primrose 1^2 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Vine 11^ 

CHAPTER X. 
The Hearf s-Ease 125 

CHAPTER XI. 



The Lauristinus 



138 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XII. 
The HolIy.Bush 150 

CHAPTER XIII. 
The Christmas Rose 162 

CHAPTER XIV. 
The Purple Crocus 174 

CHAPTER XV. 
The Hyacinth 185 

CHAPTER XVI 

The Heart's-Ease . • 203 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Ranunculus . 214 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
The Garden 228 

CHAPTER XIX. 
The Jessamine 241 

CHAPTER XX 
The Passion Flower . , 252 

CHAPTER XXI. 
The Lemon Plant 265 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Pale Bell of the Heath 279 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Guernsey Lily 293 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
The Ivy ...-....: 307 



CHAPTERS ON FLOWERS. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE SNOW-DROP. 



Botany is doubtless a very delightful study ; but 
a botanical treatise is one of the last things that 
I should be found engaged in. Truth shall be 
told : my love of flow^ers — for each particular petal 
— is such, that no thirst after scientific knowledge 
could ever prevail with me to tear the beautiful 
objects in pieces. I love to see the bud bursting 
into maturity; I love to mark the deepening tints 
with which the beams of heaven paint the expand- 
ed flower ; nay, with a melancholy sort of pleas- 
ure, I love to watch that progress towards decay, 
so endearingly bespeaking a fellowship in man's 
transient glory, which, even at its height, is but as 
" the flower of grass." I love to gaze upon these 
vegetable gems — to marvel and adore, that such 
relics of paradise are yet permitted to brighten a 
path where the iniquity of rebellious sinners has 
sown the thorn and the thistle, under the blighting 



8 THE SNOW-DROP. 

curse of an offended God. Next after the blessed 
bible, a flower-garden is to me the most eloquent 
of books — a volume teeming with instruction, con- 
solation, and reproof, 

But there is yet another, and somewhat fanciful 
view, that I delight to take of these fair things, 
my course has lain through a busy and a chequer- 
ed path ; I have been subjected to many changes 
of place, and have encountered a great variety of 
characters, who have passed before me like visions 
of the night, leaving but the remembrance of 
what they were. I have frequently in my lonely 
rambles among the flowers, assimilated one and 
another of them to those unforgotten individuals, 
until they became almost identified ; and my 
garden bears a nomenclature which no eye but 
mine can decypher. Yet if the reader be pleased 
to accompany me into this parterre, I will exhibit 
a specimen or two of what I am tempted to call 
floral biography ; humbly trusting that He who 
commended to our consideration the growth of 
ihe lilies, will be with us, to impart that blessing 
without which our walks, and words, and thoughts, 
must be alike unprofitably — sinfully vain. 

In glancing around the denuded garden, at this 
chilling season, we can scarsely fail to fix our re- 
gards upon the snow-drop, which bows its trem- 
bling head beneath the blast. Every body loves 
the delicate snow-drop ; I will not stop to repeat 



THE SNOW-DROP. » 

what has been often said and sung concerning it, 
but proceed to that of which it is a characteristic 
memento. Merely premising that in this, and 
every subsequent sketch, I shall adhere most 
strictly to simple, unadorned truth. The char- 
acters will be real, every incident a fact ; and 
nothing but the names withheld. 

It was in dear Ireland, some years ago, that a 
pious clergyman, in reading a letter from a military 
correspondent, pronounced a name familiar to me 
— it was that of one who had been a beloved play- 
mate in my earliest years, of whom I have long 
lost all trace, and who was there represented as 
having died rejoicing in the Lord. A few ques- 
tions elicited the fact of his having entered the 
army ; that he had been stationed in Ireland ; 
had married an engaging young lady, and taken 
her to India ; and now, had died in the faith. 
1 soon after learnt that the youthful widow was 
expected, whh her mother, to settle in that very town, 
where they had no connexions, nor could any one 
assign a reason for their choice. 

Months passed away, and I could not ascertain 
that they were arrived; but .one Sunday, long after- 
wards on taking my accustomed place at church, 
I found a stranger beside me in the pew, whose 
deep weeds, pallid countenance, and bending figure, 
with the addition of a most distressing cough, 
increased the interest excited by the lowly humility 



10 THE SNOW-DROP. 

of her deportment during prayers, and the earnest- 
ness of her attention to the preacher. After quitting 
the church, I asked a friend if he knew who she 

was ; he rephed, ' The widow of Captain , 

concerning whom you have so often inquired.' 
The next day I went in quest of her, introduced 
myself as the early friend of her departed husband, 
and from that time it seemed as though her only 
earthly enjoyment was to be found in my little 
study. 

Her story was this : she had married while both 
parties were in total ignorance of the gospel; 
their mutual attachment was excessive, on her 
part extravagant. She left the parental roof, and 
felt no grief at quitting it : she accompanied the 
regiment, and found every change agreeablCj for 
still it was her privilege to brighten the home of 
her beloved and affectionate husband : He was 
an amiable young man, moral and honourable ; 
and while quartered in that town, he had attended 
the preaching of the gospel, little imagining that 
the warnings addressed to unawakened sinners 
could affect one so upright as himself. Yet the 
word was not lost upon him : the good seed sunk 
into his heart ; and soon afterwards it sprang up, 
beginning to bear fruit to the glory of God. 

Theresa's affection was of that kind which is 
content to do, and to be, whatever will best please 
its object. With the same willing and happy ac- 



THE SNOW-DROP. 11 

tfVk«esceiice that had before led her into the revel- 
ries of the ball-room, did she sit down to read 
with her husband the word of God, or kneel 
beside him in prayer. * The world,' she said, 
' was pleasant to me while he loved it ; and when 
he forsook it, so did I : but with this awful difference, 
Frederick left the world, because he found its 
friendship was enmity with God : I turned from 
it because my world was centered in him.' Her 
husband saw this, and earnestly strove to lead her 
into acquaintance with herself, as the necessary 
prelude to her seeking the knowledge of the Lord : 
but in vain — his opinions were hers, in all matters, 
and therefore in religion ; but her heart was totally 
unchanged. 

And here I would pause to impress upon my 
readers, particularly the younger portion of them, 
the necessity for self-examination — constant and 
close— on this momentous point. Too frequently 
is the force of human attachment, the power of 
human influence, mistaken for the effectual work- 
ing of a divine energy in the soul. A favourite 
preacher will sometimes lead captive the imagina- 
tion, or the paramount influence of a beloved object 
seemingly draw the affections, into that track 
whereon none can truly enter, much less consist- 
ently walk, but by the guidance of the Holy Spirit : 
and what a catalogue of woes, not always to end 
with the present state of existence, might be ex- 



12 THE SNOW-DROP. 

hibited as resulting from this specious self-decep- 
tion ! " We know," saith the apostle, " that we 
have passed from death unto life, because we love 
the brethren." The test, when rightly applied, is 
a sure one : but we cannot guard too vigilantly 
against that perversion of it to which our deceitful 
hearts are perpetually prompting us. To love 
Christ in his people, is an evidence of spiritual 
life : to love Christ for his people, is a delusion, 
by means of which the father of lies seals many 
to eternal death. 

After a few removals, the regiment was ordered 
to India ; and with bitter anguish has my poor 
friend dwelt on the recollection of that year's 
events. The family of her husband being people 
of rank, and wealthy, his outfit was rendered, by 
his father's generosity, a very superior one. Val 
uable plate, and every thing that taste could devise 
for affluence to accomplish, was lavished on the 
young couple ; and as Theresa's fondness, in 
alliance with the pride that was her natural char- 
acteristic, pleaded for the display of all that could 
make her Frederick an object of such respect as 
this world's envy can bestow, she exerted all her 
influence to draw him into society which he felt 
to be most deadening to his spiritual energies, and 
destructive of the peace which he most coveted 
Still his affection for her was so great as to render 
her persuasions irresistible : and, while the fading 



THE SNOW-DROK 13 

of his healthful cheek, and increasing pensiveness 
of his eye, bespoke the internal conflict, he yielded 
to the snare so far as to devote many precious 
hours which might have been profitably spent 
among God's people, to associates, moral and re- 
spectable indeed, but very far removed from the 
ways of godhness. 

Frederick concealed from his wife the extent 
of his sufferings, while she thus encouraged the 
flesh to lust against the Spirit; but she could not 
be ignorant of it; and that knowledge, as she 
described it, only added strength to her endeavours. 
She was conscious of a sort of jealousy, the re- 
collection of which, overwhelmed her w^ith horror : 
in the selfish indulgence of an inordinate attach- 
ment, she felt it as a wrong that her husband could 
love God better than he loved her— she sought to 
rival the Lord, to win from Him the allegiance of 
a soul that He had betrothed unto himself: and 
when, in the fiery furnace into which she was 
shortly afterwards put, all these things were re- 
called to mind— set in order before her— how 
fearful were the agonies of her remorseful spirit ! 
If I could display its writhings as she described 
them to me, the warning might be salutary to sotne 
who are, in like manner, provoking the Lord to 
jealousy, endangering abrother's safety, and braving 
the storm of divine indignation. 

After some months passed in the manner above 
2 



14 THE SNOW-DROP. 

stated, while Frederick perceptibly drooped more 
and more, under the struggle that divine grace 
enabled him to maintain against temptations, too 
frequently successful, to compromise his Christian 
simplicity of walk and conversation, he appeared 
one day to his anxious wife, radiant with joy and 
holy exultation. * Oh, Theresa,' he said, * what 
can I render unto the the Lord for his great bene- 
fits V I have long been a wretched, prayerless 
outcast, unable to pour out my soul to him. T 
have pined under the sense of banishment — of 
deserved exile from his presence. I have been 
forsaking him : and he almost forsook me. But 
on this happy morning, I have been once more 
admitted to my Father's throne : I have had such 
enlargement of spirit, such freedom in prayer, 
such a blessed assurance of his unchangeable love, 
that surely, surely he will not let me wander any 
more !' She told me that his look and manner 
quite overpowered her selfish feelings : she was 
conscious of the deep cruelty of her conduct, in 
depriving him of such peace, such joy : she even 
prayed to be kept from a repetition of offence. 
Her impressions were, however, then too weak 
and transient to have endured a trial — the Lord 
wrought, in a way that neither of them had antici- 
pated : and on the very next day she saw her 
Frederick laid on the bed of dangerous sickness. 
He recovered speedily, so far as to appear out 



THE SNOW-DROP. 15 

of immediate danger ; but the medical men pro- 
nounced it indispensable that he should return to 
his native England without delay ; and, two years' 
leave of absence being granted, they embarked ; 
her fond bosom cherishing the confident expecta- 
tion of his perfect re-establishment. At the 
Cape they made a short stay ; and Frederick 
appeared so perfectly convalescent, that he seemed 
beyond the reach of a relapse. Alas ! on the 
very day of their quitting that shore, his malady 
returned with such overwhelming violence, tliat 
before they had made many leagues of the long 
homeward voyage, not a hope remained of his 
reaching England alive. 

It was dreadful to see the effort with which 
that broken-hearted creature nerved herself to tell 
me the sequel. Her feet placed on the fender for 
support, knees crushed together, lips strongly 
compressed, brows — such beautiful brows ! — bent 
into an expression of sternness, and even the 
hectic of her cheeks fading into ghastly white — 
all bespoke such mental suffering, that I implored 
her to spare herself the recital : but in vain. 

It appeared that, while Frederick, full of joy, 
lay dying in his cabin, the fiery darts of Satan 
were almost all shot into the soul of his distracted 
wife. She told me that she never suffered him 
to suspect it — that she wore an aspect of even 
cheerful resignation — and by so doing, increased 



16 THE SNOW DROP. 

his happiness. But, whenever withdrawn from 
his siglit, the tempest would break forth with such 
maddening violence, that it was astonishing how 
she could survive the paroxysms. Thoughts of 
blasphemy, the most appalling, were continually 
infused into her mind : every creature that enjoyed 
health and cheerfulness was to her an object of 
such bitter envy, that she desired their death. 
And while contrasting the rude hilarity of some 
men upon the deck, who lived in open scorn of 
every divine law, only using the name of the 
Most High in jests or curses, with the wasting 
anguish that was dissolving the frame of her angelic 
sufferer in the cabin below — then, impious 
thoughts, wild charges against the mercy, and 
even the justice of the Most High, would shoot 
through her brain, until, loathing them as she did, 
while totally unable to repress them, she was 
many a time on the point of flinging herself into 
the roaring surge beneath. 'And then, to dress 
my face in smiles, to go back to him, and take his 
hand, and tell him that the air had refreshed me — 
to read the word of that God whom I felt that I 
was defying — to kneel in prayer, seemingly a 
sharer in his beautiful aspirations of hope and 
peace, and joy, and thankfulness — You know it 
not— oh, may you never know it !' 

The closing scene was at hand ; and while she 
hung in quiet despair over his pillow, he told her, 



THE SNOW DROP. 17 

with a look of sweet sympathy, that the Lord 
would soon bring her to Himself; but that he 
saw it needful first to remove the object of her 
exclusive attachment. * My death will be the 
means of bringing you to Christ ; and Christ's 
death has opened for us both the way to God. 
Fear not, my beloved Theresa — only believe. — 
We shall sing a new song together before the 
throne of the Lamb.' 

Poor, poor Theresa ! A few days more would 
have brought them to anchor in the English port ; 
and at least she would have been spared the awful 
solitariness that surrounded her, when without one 
outward solace, she sat watching that lifeless clay, 
extended before her in the calm still beauty of 
death. She described herself as having under- 
gone the most extraordinary change, from the 
moment of his decease. The smothered tempest 
under the outbreakings of which she had ex- 
pected, and even hoped to die, passed away 
without a single burst. A cold, dull, quiet endu- 
rance succeeded ; not unmixed with transient 
gleams of hope, as his parting words again and 
again passed through her unresisting mind. Yet 
she was roused, by what I can well suppose must 
be one of the most heart-rending sounds pertain- 
ing to this world of woe ; the splash that told her 
when that form, so long and fondly loved, was 
indeed descending into its watery grave — and the 
2* 



18 THE SNOW DROP. 

ship rolled on — and even the eye of such loves as 
Theresa's might never, never catch a trace where- 
by to discern the spot of his obsequies. Ocean 
was his tomb : and who should reveal in what 
chamber of the mighty mausoleum those cherish- 
ed relics had found rest, until that day when the 
sea shall give up its dead ! 

As yet, no real peace had visited the soul of the 
mourner : the enemy was restrained, that he 
should no longer inflict on her the torture of his 
blasphemous suggestions : but grief, corroding 
grief, ate into the vital principle. She was desolate, 
and a widow, moving to and fro : looking for some 
manifestation of that divine love, of which the first 
breathings were yet hardly perceptible in her soul ; 
yet without any energy of prayer, any confident 
hope, or such a measure of faith as might enable her 
to lay hold on one of those promises, whereof she 
was very certain that her dear husband was en- 
joying the glorious fulfilment in heaven. 

In this wretched state Theresa returned to the 
home of her widowed mother; but there she 
could not remain. She pined for the ministery 
under which her departed husband had first re- 
ceived a blessing, and gave her mother no rest, 
until she consented to remove to that place ; where, 
on the first Sunday after the arrival, we were 
brought in the house of prayer. 

Theresa had taken the infection, while tending 



THE SNOW DROP. 19 

the death-bed of her husband. Consumption, 
lingering but confirmed, had shown itself before I 
saw her; grief had bowed her once elegant fig- 
ure, and I cannot look at a snow-drop without re- 
cognizing her very aspect, — every lock of her hair 
concealed beneath the widow's cap, which scarce- 
ly surpassed in deadly whiteness the countenance 
that drooped beneath it. 

But let me render thanks to God, that, speedily 
as the outward form decayed, the growth of spirit- 
ual life within was far more rapid. She had 
found mercy, and I never beheld such intense 
application of every faculty to the one work of 
searching the scriptures ; such fervent importuni 
ly for divine teaching ; such watchful discrimina- 
tion in securing the wheat and rejecting the chaff 
while listening to the various instructors who 
proffered their aid to this interesting inquirer. In 
trembling humihty and self-distrust, she no less 
resembled the snow-drop, which looks as though 
the lightest zephyr would rend it from its stem : 
but, strong in the Lord and in the power of his might, 
rooted and grounded in faith, she still, like the 
snow-drop, maintained her assigned place,unmoved 
by storms that carried devastation to loftier plants 
around. Popery, infidelity, antinomianism, were 
casting down many wounded in her path ; but God 
had indeed revealed to her the pure doctrines of gospel 
truth, and beautifully did her growing conformity 



20 THE SNOW DROP. 

to Christ evidence that the clearness of her views 
was not merely an operation of the mind — it was 
an illumination of the soul. 

Yet though enabled to rejoice in spirit, some- 
times with joy unspeakable and full of glory, her 
earthly sorrow pressed heavily on the heart so 
early bereft of its idolized treasure. To me alone 
was the privilege allowed of numbering over with 
her the httle relics of by-gone hours ; and of 
gazing on his miniature ; where his beautiful fea- 
tures, that never seemed to have lost the noble 
simplicity of expression that characterized his child- 
hood, recalled many endearing little incidents to 
my mind, on the recital of which she dwelt with 
sad delioht. One occasion I well remember, when 
the depth of her feehngs was displayed in a sin- 
gular manner ; and this I often think upon, when 
revelling in the contemplation of my flower-garden 
at the height of its glory. 

She came to me one morning, and found me 
still in my bed, suffering from a sore throat. A 
basket of flowers had just arrived from a distant 
friend, which, moistened by a shower of rain, 1 
dared not then unpack. When she entered, I called 
out, ' Theresa, you are just the person I wanted. 
I can trust precious flowers in your careful little 
hands ; and you shall arrange them with ail the 
taste that you are mistress of.' She threw a hasty 
glance on my blooming store, smiled very faintly, 



THE SNOW DROP. 21 

then, seating herself beside me, entered into con- 
versation. After a while, I renriinded her of the 
flowers : ' Presently,' was the answer ; and she 
then commenced a long history of her childhood, 
which was indeed one of extraordinary inter- 
est. Hours passed away ; and I, seeing the flowers 
begin to droop, once more asked her if she intend- 
ed to let them die ? She rose, with a long sigh ; 
and kneeling down beside a chair, slowly com- 
menced arranging the rich variety before her. I 
thought she had never looked so touchingly forlorn, 
as when, with her black garments spreading around, 
and her pale sorrowful face bent over the glowing 
heaps of roses, carnations, and every brilliant child 
of June, she pursued her task, filling several vases 
with the bouquets thus formed. 

She brought me my dinner, and then dressed, 
and conducted me into my study, where she had 
placed the flowers with such exquisite state, that 
I cried out in delight, / O Theresa, you shall be 
my florist in ordinary : what a beautiful display 
you have made ! She seated herself b" my side 
on the sofa, kissed me, and said, ' Novv, x' .er this, 
you are never to doubt that I love you.' 

' Doubt it, my dear friend ! I could not if I tried : 
but you have given me stronger proofs of it than 
this, much as your taste and ingenuity are now dis- 
played on my behalf.' 

' No — I never gave you such a proof before !* 



22 THE SNOW DROP. 

She then burst into tears, and told me that her 
passion for flowers was as great as even mine *. 
that it was Frederick's daily task, when in India, 
to go out every morning and cull the most splendid 
blossoms of that glowing clime, which he always 
arranged in her boudoir, and upon her beloved 
piano, with as much care as he bestowed on his 
military duties. The long voyage had separated 
her from the world of flowers during his illness : 
and when, after leaving him in the depths of 
ocean, she first beheld those smiling remem- 
brances, such a horror took possession of her poor 
lacerated mind, that, as she solemnly assured me, 
she would rather have taken the most noisome 
reptile into her hand than a rose. Voluntarily, 
she never entered a garden ; because of the al- 
most unconquerable desire that she felt to trample 
every flower into the earth. She had struggled 
and prayed against this : it was a species of de- 
lirium over which time seemed to have no power ; 
and it was to avoid a taskso torturincr that she had 
engaged my attention for hours, in the hope of 
my forgetting it until after her departure. ' When 
I kneeled down before the chair,' said the sweet 
mourner, * I prayed that the sense of all your love 
toward me might prevail over my dreadful reluct- 
ance ; and it did.' Then, after a pause she added, 
with another burst of tears, * I don't think I could 
have done it, if you had not loved Frederick !' 



THE SNOW DROP. 23 

Not long after this, I was surprised by seeing 
in her own apartnaent. a single, soft white rose in 
a glass. She pointed it out to me, saying, ' I am 
following up my, or rather your conquest ; it is too 
ungrateful, that because God has seen fit to resume 
the dearest of all his gifts, I should spurn from me 
what he yet leaves in my path !' I understood the 
nature of her struggle ; and, trivial as it may ap- 
pear to those whose minds are differently con 
stituted, I could appreciate the honesty of her 
efforts to overcome what too many would have de- 
lighted to indulge, as the offspring of feelings that 
could not perhaps have excited but in a remark- 
ably sensitive and imaginative character. She 
laboured to bring all into the captivity of wilhng obe- 
dience to Christ : thus yielding strong evidence 
of a growth in the grace that was preparing her for 
glory. 

I watched, for twelve months, her progress 
towards heaven ; and greatly did she desire to die, 
where alone she had truly begun to live ; but 
duty called her elsewhere, to the fulfilment of a 
painful, though sacred task. She applied, her 
remaining strength to the work, and then lay down 
in peace. Her death-bed was described by a pious 
minister as presenting a foretaste of heavenly tri- 
umph. Her ashes repose beneath the green 
shamrocks of her native isle ; her spirit rejoices in 
the presence of her redeeming God. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 



'Nothing venture, nothing have,' is one of the 
homely sayings against which sentence of ban- 
ishment has been pronounced from the high places 
of what we are pleased to call refined society. 
When I scrawled the adage in my first copy-book, 
I thought it exceedingly wise ; and reduced it to 
practice a few evenings afterwards, in a merry 
holiday party, where the old game of snap-dragon 
was played. I had rarely borne off a single plum' 
from the midst of those pale blue flames that ap- 
peared in my eyes most terrific ; indeed, all my 
prizes had been made under circumstances that 
called only the best part of valour into exercise ; 
for I watched when some more adventurous wight, 
who had boldly seized them, w^as induced, either 
by alarm or burned fingers, to let the trophy fall, 
which I quietly picked up, and conveyed into my 
mouth. The proverb, however, seemed to have 
inspired me with somewhat of a more enterpris- 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 25 

ing character ; for, on the evening in question, 
I elbowed my way through the laughing, scream- 
ing little folks, and secretly ejaculating, ' Nothing 
venture, nothing have,' I bravely plunged my hand 
into the dish, and bore off a noble plum, enveloped 
in those alarming flames, which I blew out ; and 
certainly I thought the morsel that my own chival- 
rous exploit had secured, infinitely superior in 
flavour to any of the more ignoble, spoils of former 
times. 

How far this successful application of an old 
saw might influence my after life, J know not 
but certain it is, that I have done many things 
which wiser people call rash, and imprudent in 
the highest degree, under an impulse very similar 
to the foregoing. Not that, in the darkest days of 
my ignorance, I ever looked to what is called 
chance, or luck : even in childhood, I regarded 
with inexpressible contempt what the grace of 
God subsequently taught me to reject as decided- 
ly sinful. I was taken to church every Sunday, 
even before I could read the bible, and when 
sufficiently advanced in learning to do so, I was 
told to receive every word that I read in it, as the 
declaration of God himself. This I did : and I 
believe that a reverential reception of our Lord's 
plain assurance, that the very hairs of our head 
are all numbered, and that not a sparrow could 
fall to the ground without our Father, proved suf- 
3 



26 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

ficient to arm me against the whole theory of 
luck. I notice this with gratitude ; and as an en- 
couragement to parents to bring that blessed book 
within the reach of their little ones, from the first 
dawning of their infant faculties. 

It was not, therefore, in a gambling spirit that I 
applied the adage : — to venture something, where 
the object was to be gained according to the turn- 
ing up of a card, or the random decision of a lot, I 
felt to be foolish, before I knew it to be wicked ; 
but when any desirable thing was placed within 
my grasp, the attainment of which I might honest- 
ly compass, at the expense of some loss, or 
perhaps suffering to myself. I have rarely shrunk 
back from the enterprise. It has pleased God, in 
his great mercy, so far to sanctify this feature of 
my natural character, that I am able, through 
prayer, to attempt things, where his glory alone is 
concerned, that some who are far superior to me 
in every spiritual gift and grace would pause at . 
and I have a criterion whereby to judge when it is 
through the help of my God that I overleap any 
wall. Accomplishing it in my own strength, and 
for my own gratification, I am sure to carry off 
either bT-oken bones, or some severe sprain or con- 
tusion ; obliging me to limp for a long while after : 
but when the power of faith has alone wrought 
the achievement, I alight unharmed, and go on my 
way rejoicing. 



THE FURZE-BTJSH. 27 

* Nothing venture, nothing have,' was my mental 
reflection, as I inserted my hand, the other day, 
within the strong fence-work of a hardy furze- 
bush, to possess myself of the fragrant flower that 
reposed its golden bosom where few would have 
cared to invade its retreat. But the plant was an 
old, an endeared associate, having formed a dis- 
tinguishing feature of the wild, sweet scenery, 
amid which I passed many a happy day. A type, 
too, it was of those days ; for as the bright and 
beautiful furze-blossom throws its sunny gleams 
over the withering herbage that lies frozen around, 
— shedding lustre and breathing fragrance on its 
own thorny tree, — so did the transient loveliness 
of that short season to which I refer, ameliorate 
the dreariness of a wintry doom, a^ sweeten 
many thorns, planted around me by the hand of 
unerring wisdom^ The furze-bush from whence I 
last plucked a flower, is located, indeed, in a re- 
gion as dissimilar from that which my memory- 
enshrines, as are the feelings excited by a glance 
at the present, contrasted with the retrospection 
of what is forever past : but its tints are as mel- 
low, its foilage as green, and its aspect altogether 
the same, I knew that if I secured a cluster of its 
soft petals, they would breathe a like fragrance ; 
and I was content to venture a scratched finger, 
for the indulgence of a sweet, though melancholy, 
gratification^ 



28 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

There was yet another inducement to gather 
these buds of furze : I was about to pass a spot 
singularly interesting to me — a grave, over which 
I have often bent with sensations of exquisite de- 
light. The silent tenant of that dark and narrow 
house, in the few months of our intimate ac- 
quaintance, furnished me with an opportunity of 
bringing into action all that God was pleased to 
impart to me of enterprize and perseverance, 
for the attainment of a trophy more glorious than 
aught, and all, that can perish. I could not but 
frequently compare that work with the attempt to 
gather flowers from the midst of numerous and 
piercing thorns ; and more than once, during its 
progress, have I stopped to rend a sprig from the 
forbidding^ furze, and then divested that sprig of 
all individual points, that I might rejoice in the suc- 
cess of an allegorical exploit. To none but to 
Him who helped me, is it known what I endured 
before the victory was made manifest which He, 
not I, achieved ; nor will Christian charity admit 
the lifting of that veil which I desire to throw over 
the opposition of some, whose crown of rejoicing 
it might well have proved to be fellow-helpers in 
such a work. I gathered the blossoms ; and thank- 
fully will I leave the thorns out of sight, forgetting 
those things that are behind, and reaching forward 
to what is yet before me. 

Mary was the name of this departed one, whose 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 29 

memory is precious to me. She was a humble 
cottager ; but remarkable for that intelligence which 
frequently, I may say universally, characterizes 
even the most uneducated class in her native Ireland. 
Over the earliest period of her life, a cloud hangs ; 
but it is not the obscurity of darkness — rather it 
would seem, the outset was a flood of light, sudden- 
ly disappearing behind the thick mists which over- 
hung the horizon where her morning sun arose. 
This I ascertained, but not until long after those 
mists had begun to disperse, which deeply shroud- 
ed her mind at the commencement of our acquaint- 
ance ; — that she was the daughter of a converted 
man, called out of the darkness of Romanism to 
the marvellous light of the gospel ; — that her father 
ha<4 diligently instructed his household in those 
truths which he had found to be the power of 
God unto the salvation of his own soul ; and, both in 
English and Irish, he had read the scriptures, to 
all who would come within the hearing of them. 

I know not how it was, that at the early age of 
six years, Mary was removed from the paternal 
roof, and initiated by those anaong whom she sub- 
sequently dwelt, into all the mysteries of that 
fatal apostacy from which her father had been res- 
cued. She became in time, the wife of one 
equally bigoted, and equally ignorant with herself; 
and crossing the channel, they took up their abode 
in England, within the reach of a Roman Cath- 
3* 



30 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

olic chapel, the priest of which justly num- 
bered Mary among the most determined adherents 
to the tenets of his erroneous faith. Some time 
elapsed, (above ten years, I believe) before I 
was led by the hand of Providence to fix my 
dwelling in the same neighbourhood. Of Mary, 
I had never heard ; but having become acquaint- 
ed with several of her poor country people 
around, and told them how dearly I loved their own 
green isle, she had felt the yearnings of Irish af- 
fection towards one who entertained a preference 
for poor Erin. Nothing could be more character- 
istic than our first meeting : I was advancing 
with a tract, towards the gate of a little cottage, 
out of which came a respectably-dressed woman, 
with a basket of eggs on her arm, who made me a 
very nice courtesy, at the same time fixing on me 
two of the most brilliant eyes I ever beheld, and 
smiling with unrestrained cordiality. I returned 
both her greeting and her smile ; on which she 
immediately said, * You never come down to our 
place, Ma'am.' I replied, ' Perhaps not, for I don*t 
know where you place is ; but I am sure you are 
Irish.' I am Irish mdeed : and you love our peo- 
ple so well, that I often look out for you to visit 
me. I live down by' — and she named a retreat, 
rather out of my usual road. I promised a visit, 
asked a few questions respecting her native place, 
and we parted. I observed to my companion 
what a remarkably intelligent countenance she 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 31 

had ; and was told in reply, that she was one of 
the most zealous papists in the parish. 

We met occasionally in the street, and always 
spoke ; but I was prevented by other engagements 
from visiting her. After a long time, I learned 
that she had been very near death ; that her new- 
born infant, like herself, had narrowly escaped it, 
and that Mary was then sinking into a very painful 
and dangerous disease — an internal cancer form- 
ing, which menaced her life. To this were added 
distressing testimonies as to the determined manner 
in which she rejected all religious instruction, not 
administered by her own priest ; excepting that 
she listened patiently and respectfully to one pious 
clergyman, who occasionally visited all the cotta- 
ges ; and who was so universally beloved among 
the poor, that no one ever refused him a reveren- 
tial and affectionate reception. 

I was pricked to the heart, when told of the in- 
creasing sufferings of poor Mary, whose personal 
industry had been the main support of her family 
and who began to feel the miseries of abject poverty 
aggravating her bodily torments. I determined 
to visit her, and that too for the express purpose 
of trying whether I could not, as a weak instrument 
in an Almighty hand, bring her forth from her dar- 
ling delusions, into the beams of the day-spring 
from on high. I was told that such an attempt 
would subject me to insult ; if not from her, from 



32 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

her husband : and that the priest was too unremit- 
ting in his attentions to be ignorant of an invasion 
in that quarter, which he would surely repel, by 
stirring up yet more the bigot zeal of some among 
his Irish flock, who had shewn a disposition to re- 
sent my occasional interference with their false 
faith. 

* Nothing venture, nothing have,' was here apph- 
cable, in its very best and highest sense ; and in 
the spirit of prayer, I betook myself to the task. 
Into a bush, of which every leaf was a thorn, I cer- 
tainly did thrust my hand, to gather out from among 
them this flower. Opposition I fully expected, from 
her own strong attachment to the errors of po- 
pery : but I found her far more willing to listen than 
I had dared to hope. Indeed, such was the love 
wherewith the Lord mercifully taught her to regard 
me, that she could not quarrel with any word or 
action of mine : the flower itself offered no thorny 
resistance. Opposition from her husband was 
unexpectedly prevented, by the removal of Mary 
from her home, to a place under parochial man- 
agement, which also brought her much nearer to 
my abode. Opposition from the priest, I encount- 
ered to the full extent of his power, even to per- 
sonal resistance, and the exercise of an influence 
that I did not expect to find so powerful, in far 
other quarters than the cottages of those who fre- 
<|uented his altar. The great enemy of poor Mary's 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 33 

soul put in force to the uttermost his crafty wiles, 
to the strengthening of a cause that, to all but me, 
appeared frequently triumphant : and when her 
bold, decided avowal that she would hear the 
scriptures read, and listen to my instructions, 
silenced those who had built their predictions on 
her long hostility to protestantism, the old and 
more subtle charge of hypocrisy was resorted to. 
Instances were adduced of her frequent deviation 
from strict veracity, while yet under the power of 
that religion which teaches, even in its first cate- 
chism, the fearful doctrine that such sins are venial 
only, and to be readily atoned for by a few forms 
and penances. The recent change in her expres- 
sions was referred to a prudential application of the 
same convenient sophistry ; and I was told that the 
trifle which I occasionally left on her pillow went 
duly to the priest, in purchase of absolution for 
the sin of listening to me. This I knew to be 
utterly false; but I felt at times those painful 
misgivings, which were as delicate thorns intro- 
duced into the flesh, harassing me, and tending to 
indispose me from further exertion. Still, by keep- 
ing my eye upon the power which alone could ac- 
complish such a work, the power which, if once 
brought into operation, none could let, I was en- 
abled to go on, grasping the flower, and applying 
every energy to draw it from its adverse concomi- 
tants. 



34 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

It was when struggling against my own unbelief, 
so cruelly encouraged by the groundless tales of 
wilful deceivers and willing dupes, that I was 
unexpectedly cheered, by the sudden recurrence 
of Mary to the scenes of her infancy, her father's 
home. A text of scripture was brought before 
her, which he had been in the habit of dweUing 
upon, when pointing out to his family the sinful- 
ness of creature worship ; and a flood of light ap- 
peared to break at once upon her mind, presenting a 
rapid succession of images, long lost in the spiritual 
darkness of her riper years . It was then that she told 
me what proved her to have been the child of many 
prayers — the object of a truly christian father's anx- 
ious instruction : and it came, too, at an advanced 
period of my daily attendance when she lay in 
lingering torments on what was sure to be her 
death-bed. Need I say, that every phantom of 
mistrust, conjured up by the devil to dishearten 
and perplex me, vanished, never to return ? It 
was enough — I found that another had long before 
laboured where I was mercifully commissioned to 
enter upon the ground, unoccupied as I supposed it 
to be. In the morning that christian father had 
sown the seed : in the evening, by God's grace, 
I withheld not my hand ; I know not whether pros- 
pered, this or that : but I believe they were alike 
good. Only the former sprung not up, until the 
latter was likewise cast in. 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 35 

Two things made against the apparent reality of 
dear Mary's conversion : one was, that she long per- 
sisted in a falsehood, the tendency of which was 
to screen from well-merited odium one who had 
deeply, cruelly wronged her faithful attachment to 
him. The other was the unvarying respect that 
she showed to her priest, who persisted in visiting 
her. On both these points I was fully satisfied, 
and indeed confirmed in my estimate of her char- 
acter : for, on my directing my discourse one day 
with an especial view to the former of them, the 
delusion of doing evil that some supposed good 
might ensue, she burst into tears, acknowledged 
her offence ; and that she had considered it meri- 
torious to stand between that individual and the 
disgrace that was his just due ; and, in my 
presence, she spoke to the same effect to him, 
warning him of the ruin that awaited him, in time 
and in eternity, if he forsook not his evil way. 
With regard to the priest, she had experienced 
from him much kindness, and frequently had he 
relieved her necessities, instead of taking aught 
from her. She knew him to be sincere in his 
errors ; and she did justice to the benevolence of 
his conduct ; firmly declaring, that as long as 
she lived she would manifest her grateful sense 
of his well-intentioned zeal. I was far from dis- 
couraging this : I loved her for it, and exhorted 
her to be frequently in prayer for him ; but others 



36 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

could not enter into my views, because they saw 
not that wherein I was daily privileged to rejoice. 
It was a small matter to her, or to me, to be judged 
of man's judgment. Mary had the witness in 
herself, and she died in perfect peace — a peace 
that had possessed her soul for many weeks, pre- 
vious to its happy enfranchisement from the per- 
ishing clay. I too, had a witness, in the signal 
answers to prayer, whereby my path was daily 
opened to the chamber of my beloved charge, not- 
withstanding an almost unprecedented stretch, 
both of influence and authority, to bar it against 
me. I had another witness, in the unwonted 
patience that possessed my intemperate spirit, 
under many indignities ; and the faith that led 
my steps continually to the scene of opposition. 
That God himself had set before me an open 
door, was manifested in this: — no man could shut 

it. 

Well, the scratches were soon healed, that 
those ungracious thorns inflicted ; and the certain- 
ty that I did indeed behold the flower removed to 
a fair garden where no thorns can enter, renders 
me joyfully willing to encounter as much, and 
more, wherever the Lord points a way. I should 
be well pleased so to connect the memory of my 
interesting Mary with the bright-blossomed furze, 
that every survey of its golden treasures, scattered 
over our heaths and glens, might suggest a theme 



THE FURZE-BUSH. 37 

of cheerful encouragement to all who desire to 
labour in the Lord's cause, among the bond-slaves 
of Satan. Let them always remember, that op- 
position ought to be a spur, overruled to quicken 
them in their course. Satan is an experienced 
general, who does not enter the field against imagi- 
nary foes, nor man his walls when there is no 
peril. Whenever he bestirs himself to an active 
resistance, depend upon it, he sees that One 
mightier than he is taking the field. You cannot 
see your leader ; Satan does. When, therefore, 
you find unlooked-for obstacles thickening before 
you, be sure that the adversary is alarmed, and 
GO FORWARD ; for He who never rides forth but 
to conquer is with you in the field. 

With a gladsome heart I looked upon Mary's 
humble grave : for with sparkling eyes she used 
to tell me that, whereas it had been, all her life 
long, a prospect of unutterable horror and dismay 
to her, she could look forward to it as a pleasant 
resting-place for her poor body, while her soul, in 
the hands of her dear Redeemer, waited for the 
time appointed to reunite itself with its former 
companion. She dwelt upon the glorious change, 
from corruptible to incorruption, from mortal to 
immortality ; and she dwelt upon it as the achieve- 
ment of Christ alone, on her behalf. This was a 
hope that maketh not ashamed ; and well does the 
gay sweet blossom of the threatening furze accord 
4 



38 THE FURZE-BUSH. 

with my bosom's joy, while contemplating the 
work of redeeming love, in rescuing her soul 
from all the host that encompassed it. The work 
was the Lord's — to Him be the thanksgiving and 
the praise ! 



CHAPTER III. 



THE SHAMROCK. 



Should any of my readers have amused themselves 
by conjecturing which, among the increasing vari- 
ety of floral gems that herald the spring, would be 
brought forward as appropriate to the month of 
March, they will probably be disappointed. The 
delicate primrose may look forth from its crisp 
leaves ; the fragrant violet may volunteer, in its 
natural and emblematical beauty, to furnish a 
grateful type ; but the parterre, with all its attrac- 
tion, must be passed by ; for, among the long grass 
at the bottom of the garden, in the most unculti- 
vated, neglected spot, lurks the object of which 
we are now in quest : — invisible, as yet ; unless 
prematurely unfolded by the influence of more 
genial weather than we can reasonably anticipate 
at this blustering season : but sure to lift up its 
simple head, in the freshness of healthful vegeta- 
tion, before three weeks have passed away. Yes, 



40 THE SHAMROCK. 

the Shamrock must occupy the station of a flower 
for once, and why should it not ? England displays, 
as her synribol, the glowing rose, — Scotland, the 
lilac tuft of her hardy and gigantic thistle,-- -and 
alas ! poor Erin's green shamrock has too often 
outblushed them both, as the life-blood of many a 
victim oozed forth upon the sod, under the iron 
reign of spiritual tyranny, which still sharpens, 
for its own dark purposes, the weapons of civil 
discord ; wading onward, through rivers of blood, 
to the goal of its insatiable ambition. 

But I must not identify the gentle shamrock 
with themes so revolting ; I have pleasanter combi- 
nations in view, and long to introduce to my read 
ers the companion with whom, for seven succes 
sive years, I sought out the symbol so dear to hia 
patriotic heart, and watched the prayerful expres 
sion of his countenance, while he gazed upon it 
He was dumb ; no articulate sound had ever passed 
his lips, no note of melody had ever penetrated 
his closed ear, but the ' Ephphatha' had reached 
his heart ; and, oh ! how full, how rich, how sweet, 
how abiding was the communion which he held with 
his adored Redeemer ! 

The Irish have a tradition, that when St. Patrick 
first proclaimed among their fathers the glad tidings 
of salvation, making known to them the existence 
of the tri-une Jehovah, the greatness of tha 
mystery perplexed and staggered his disciples. 



THE SHAMROCK. 41 

They urged those cavils wherewith poor natural 
reason loves to oppose the revelations of infinite 
wisdom. ' How, they asked, ' can three be one ? 
how can one be three V The missionary stooped 
to gather a shamrock leaf, which grew at his feet ; 
telhng therri, that God had carpeted their beautiful 
island with an illustration of what they considered 
so incomprehensible : and thenceforth, say the 
legends, the shamrock was adopted as a symbol of 
the faith embraced by christianized Ireland. This, 
I know, that, with a shamrock in my hand, I have 
gained access to many an Irish heart, while my 
auditors eagerly listened to whatever I might 
preach, upon the text of St. Patrick. 

The dumb boy fully understood all this : he 
frequently alluded to it : and sweet it is to reflect, 
that he whose tongue was silent on earth, is sing- 
ing a new and glorious song before the throne of 
that Incomprehensible one, whom he knew and 
adored — as Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier — 
while seeing through a glass more dark, perhaps, 
than that which we are privileged to use : whom 
he now knows, even as he is known : whom he now 
adores, with energies set free from the deadening 
weight of sinful flesh, perfected even into the image 
of his Saviour's glory. 

Before nineteen years had rolled over him, Jack 
was summoned to enter into this enjoyment : and 
I do not hesitate to afiirm, the broadest, deepest, 
4* 



42 THE SHAMROCK. 

most unequivocal seal of adoption into God's family- 
was visibly impressed upon him, during the last 
seven years of his gentle and peaceful life. His 
character shone w^ith a bright, yet calm and unos- 
tentatious consistency — he adorned his lowly sta- 
tion with such quiet endurance of the world's lifted 
heel, and stood so unharmed in the midst of its 
pollutions, evermore revived by the dews of divine 
grace, and exhibiting so attractive, though imper- 
fect an image of Him, who formed him to shew 
forth his praise, that I could find no type so expres- 
sive of him, as his own native shamrock ; even 
had not the fervency of his patriotism, which was 
really enthusiastic, crowned the resemblance. 

But another circumstance, never to be erased 
from my fondest recollection, has inseparably 
combined that boy's image with the shamrock 
leaf. I had taken him from his parents, at the age 
of eleven : and it will readily^ be believed, that the 
grateful love w^hich he bore to me, as his only in- 
structor and friend, extended itself to those who 
w^ere dear to me. There was one, round whom 
all the strings of my heart had entwined from the 
cradle. Jack appeared to understand, better than 
any one else ever did, the depth of my affection 
for this precious relative, and most ardently did 
the boy love him. He went to Ireland ; and Jack 
remained in England, with me. Many weeks had 
not passed, before our hearts were wrung by the 



THE SHAMROCK. 43 

intelligence, that this beloved object had been 
snatched away, by a sudden and violent death. 
The shock, the grief, that preyed upon the boy's 
affectionate heart, w^hile witnessing what I endured, 
proved too much for him, and led to the lingering 
decline which, after years of suffering, terminated 
his mortal existence. 

It was some months after my family bereavement, 
that, on the dawn of Patrick's day, I summoned 
Jack to sally forth, and gather shamrocks. To 
my surprise, he declined putting one in his hat ; and 
when I rallied, remonstrated, and at last almost 
scolded him, he only repeated the gentle movement 
of the hand, which impUed rejection, sometimes 
spelling, no, — no. I was puzzled at this ; especial- 
ly as a d*ep shade of pensiveness overcast a coun- 
tenance that always was dressed in smiles on 
Patrick's day. I was also vexed at his want of 
sympathy, on a subject on which we had always 
agreed so well — love for dear Ireland. In the 
middle of the day, I took him out with me, and 
again tendered the sliamrock : but could not per- 
suade him to mount it higher than his bosom. 
Seeing an Irish youth pass, with the national crest, 
I pointed to him, saying, ' That good boy loves 
Ireland : bad Jack does not love it.' This touched 
him nearly : he answered sorrowfully, ' Yes, Jack 
very much loves poor Ireland.' I shook my head, 
pointing to his hat; and, unable to bear the re- 



44 THE SHAMROCK. 

proach, he reluctantly told me, while his eyes 
swam in tears, that he could not wear it in his hat, 

for shamrocks now grew on -'s grave. 

I will not attempt to express what I felt, at this 
trait of exquisite tenderness and delicacy in a poor 
peasant boy : but I told him that the little sham- 
rocks were far dearer to me, because they made 
that spot look green and lovely. He instantly 
kissed the leaves, and put them in his hat ; and 
when, after two years, I saw his own lowly grave 
actually covered with shamrocks, I felt that, in 
this world, I must not look for such another char 
acter. That child of God was commissioned to 
cross my path, that he might shed over it that pure 
and tranquilhzing light of his eminently holy and 
happy spirit, during the darkest, and mo^t troubled 
season of my past pilgrimage. The Lord has 
choice cordials to bestow, but he keeps them for 
special occasions, to strengthen the weak hands, 
and confirm the feeble knees, of his fainting people. 
Such was my experience, while the boy was with 
me, whose whole discourse, his every thought by 
day, and dream by night, was of the love and the 
power of Jesus Christ. He saw God in every thing : 
the lightning, he called ' God's eye,' and the rain- 
bow, * God's smile.' Two objects his soul abhorred 
— Satan, and Popery. Of Satan's power and mal- 
ice he seemed to have a singularly experimental 
knowledge : yet always described him as a con- 



THE SHAMROCK. 45 

quered foe. He once told me that the devil was 
like the candle before him; and advancing his 
hand to the flame, suddenly withdraw it, as if 
burnt : then, after a moment's thought, exultingly 
added, that God was the wind which could put 
the candle out : illustrating the assertion by extin- 
guishing it with a most energetic pufF. I often 
remarked in him such a realization of the constant 
presence of his great enemy, as kept him per- 
petually on his guard ; and when it is remembered 
that Jack never knew enough of language to enable 
him to read the bible, this will be felt to have been 
a striking proof of divine teaching. Jack knew 
many words, but they were principally nouns— he 
mastered substantives readily, and some of the 
most common adjectives, with a few adverbs, but 
the pronouns I never could make him attend to ; 
the verbs he would generally express by signs. 
His language was a mere skeleton, rendered in- 
telligible by his looks and gestures, both of which 
were remarkably eloquent. I have seen him trans- 
cribe from the bible or prayer-book, as he was 
very fond of the pen ; but when he has uninten- 
tionally turned over two leaves, or missed a line, 
he has not been sensible of the error : a proof 
that he wrote as he drew, merely to copy the forms 
of what he saw. He once got hold of the verse, 
"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away 
the sins of the world," and asked me to explain it. 



46 THE SHAMROCK. 

I did : and he would write it out twenty times, 
with great dehght : but still preferred the symbol 
of the red hand. It may be asked why I did not 
advance him farther in language ? There was a re- 
luctance on his part which I could not surmount, 
and which he in some measure accounted for, by 
saying that he liked to talk to me, but not to others. 
He used the word " brother," to explain the sen- 
sation occasioned by any effort in the way of ac- 
quiring grammatical learning, and went off to his 
pencils with such glee, that, as he was a good deal 
employed about the house and garden, and evidently 
drooped when much confined to sedentary occupa- 
tion, I yielded to his choice, determined to settle 
him, after a while, to his studies ; and conscious 
that he was right in the remark which he made to 
me, that his not being able to talk better kept him 
out of the way of many bad things. His sister, 
who came over to me five months before his death, 
could not read ; consequently they had no com- 
munication but by signs ; and often have I been 
amazed to witness the strong argumentative dis- 
cussions that went forward between them on the 
grand question of religion. She looked on Jack 
as an apostate ; while his whole soul was engaged 
in earnest prayer, that she also might come out 
from her idolatrous church. 

But to resume the subject of that spiritual teach- 
ing : knowing as I did, how ignorant the boy was 



THE SHAMROCK. 



47 



of the letter of scripture, I beheld with astonish- 
ment the bible written, as it were on his heart and 
brain. Not only his ideas, but his expressions, 
as far as they went, were those of scripture ; and 
none who conversed with him could beheve without 
close investigation that he was so unacquainted 
with the written word. When tempted to any 
thing covetous or mercenary, he would fight 
against the feeling, saying, ' No, no : Judas love 
nioney— devil loves money— Jesus Christ not love 
money— Jack know, money bad.' I had of course 
brought him intimately acquainted with all the his- 
tory of our blessed Lord ; but it was God who 
made the spiritual application. 

It was a sweet season when first the dumb boy 
commemorated, at the Lord's table, that dying love 
which continually occupied his thoughts. A sea- 
son never to be forgotten. A young country- 
man of his for whom he was deeply interested, 
had, after a long conflict, renounced popery ; and 
earnestly desired to partake with us the blessed 
ordinance. Consumption had been preying on 
Jack for many months, though he lived a year 
longer, and his pale face, and slender delicate figure, 
formed a touching contrast to the stout ruddy young 
soldier who knelt beside him. The latter evinced 
much emotion ; but there was all the serenity, all 
the smiling loveliness of a clear summer sky on 
the countenance of Jack. I asked him afterwards 



48 THE SHAMROCK. 

how he felt at the time : his reply was concise, 
but how comprehensive, * Jack knows Jesus Christ 
love poor Jack — Jack very very much love Jesus 
Christ — Jack very very very much hate devil — 
Go, devil !' and with a look of lofty, solemn tri- 
umph, he waved for him to depart, as one who had 
no power to molest him. There was a galaxy .of 
scripture in these few words, with their accompany- 
ing looks. Jesus had made himself known in the 
breaking of bread — "We love him, because he 
first loved us." "Get thee behind me, Satan." 
"They overcame him through the blood of the 
Lamb." "The God of all peace shall bruise 
Satan under your feet shortly." Jack had the 
most clear perception of the nature and end of that 
ordinance, more so, I believe, than many who with 
every advantage in the way of instruction, attend 
it from year to year. Dearly he loved the altar 
of the Lord ; and near it he is now laid to rest, 
just beneath the eastern window of that house 
where, indeed, he would far rather have been the 
humblest door-keeper, than have dwelt in the most 
gorgeous palaces of an ungodly world. 

I have alluded to the strength of the boy's patriot- 
ism ; this always appeared extraordinary to me. 
Of geography he had not the slightest idea, neither 
could any peculiarity of language (for the Irish is 
much spoken in his native place) or difference of 
accent, affect him. He showed not the slightest 



THE SHAMROCK. 49 

unwillingness to leave his country ; nor did a wish 
of returning to it ever seem to cross his mind. 
Yet was his love for Ireland so pervading, that it 
seemed to mix itself with all his thoughts. I have 
no doubt but that the sad contrast which his memo- 
ry presented, of the wants, the vices, the slavish 
subjection of a priest-ridden population, to the 
comforts and decencies, and spiritual freedom of 
the land where he could worship God according to 
his conscience, without fear of man, was a princi- 
pal ground of this tender compassionate love to- 
wards Ireland, and was the means of stirring him 
up to that constant prayer, in which I know that 
he earnetly wrestled with God, for his brethren 
according to the flesh. The language of his heart 
was, " that mine head were waters, and mine 
eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day 
and night for the slain of the daughter of my peo- 
ple !" 

I well remember finding him one morning in 
the garden, leaning on his spade, with tears trick- 
ling down his cheeks. On my approaching him 
with a look of inquiry, he took up a handful of 
earth, and showed me that it was so dry he could 
scarcely dig : then proceeded to tell me, that, be- 
cause of the drought, he feared potatoes would 
not grow well in Ireland ; and poor Irish would be 
all bone, and would be sick and die, before they had 
learned to pray to Jesus Christ. He dwelt on 
5 



50 THE SHAMROCK. 

this for a long while ; and most pathetically en* 
treated me to pray to God for poor Ireland. All 
that day he continued very sad : and on bidding 
me good night, he gave a significant nod to one 
side, and joined his hands, signifying his intention 
to have a ' long prayer,' as he used to call it. The 
next morning I went to the garden ; and most ve- 
hemently did he beckon for me to run till I came 
to where he stood ; when, with a face flushed with 
joy, he turned rapidly over the well-moistened 
earth, then stuck his spade exultingly into it, and 
told me that he prayed a long while before he 
went to bed — got up soon after, to pray again— 
and, on returning to his little couch, slept till morn- 
ing ; — that while Jack was asleep, God who had 
looked at his prayer, made a large cloud, and sent 
much rain ; and now potatoes, would grow, poor 
Irish would be fat and strong ; and God, who sent 
the rain, would send them bibles. He then lifted 
up his face to heaven, and with a look of unbound- 
ed love — so reverential, yet so sweetly confiding 
— such as I never beheld on any other countenance, 
he said, ' Good, good Jesus Christ !' Often when 
my heart is particularly heavy, for the wants and 
woes of Ireland, do I recall that triumphant faith 
in which the boy pleaded for it, day by day, foi 
seven years ; and it gives me comfort more solid 
than can well be imagined. 

His expression, that God looked at, or saw his 



THE SHAMROCK. 51. 

prayer, reminds me of another beautiful idea that 
he communicated to me. Observing that he could 
not speak to be heard, he made me open my watch ; 
and then explained that as I, by so doing, could 
perceive all the movements of the wheels, so, but 
without opening it, God could discern what passed 
m his head. A servant going to fetch something 
out of his room one night, when he was supposed 
to have been asleep a long while, saw him at the 
low window on his knees, his joined hands raised 
up and his eyes fixed on the stars, with a smile of 
joy and love like nothing, she said, that ever she 
had seen or fancied. There was no light but 
from that spangled sky ; and she left him there un- 
disturbed. He told me that he liked to go to the 
window, and kneel down, that God might look 
through the stars into his head, to see how he 
loved Jesus Christ. Alas ! how few among us but 
would shrink from such a scrutiny ! 

I once asked him a strange question, but I did 
it not lightly. He was expressing the most un- 
bounded anxiety for the salvation of every one. 
He spoke with joy and delight of the angels, and 
glorified spirits : he wept for those who had died 
unreconciled through the red hand ; and urged me 
to pray very much for all alive, that they might be 
saved. When he lamented so feelingly the lost 
estate of the condemned, I ventured to ask him 
if he was not sorry for Satan ? In a moment his 



52 THE SHAMROCK. 

look changed from the softest companion to the 
most indignant severity : and he replied, with great 
spirit, * No ! Devil hate Jesus Christ — Jack hate 
Devil :* and went on in a strain of lofty exultation, 
in the prospect of seeing the great enemy chained 
for ever in a lake of fire. He did not excuse those 
who perished in unbelief and enmity : he seemed 
to mourn for them in the exact spirit of his Saviour, 
who, as man, wept over the sinners whom, he nev- 
ertheless, as God, sealed up in just condemnation. 
When I asked him if he ever prayed for those who 
were dead, he answered, in some surprise, ' No,' 
and enquired w^hether I did. I replied in the 
negative. He said, * Good ;' and added, that the 
red hand was not put on the book after people 
were dead, but while they were on the earth, and 
praying. Yet the idea of the soul slumbering 
was to him perfectly ridiculous— he quite laughed 
at it. The day before his death, he asked me, 
with a very sweet and composed look, what mes- 
sage I wished him to deliver to my brother, when 
he should see him : T desired him, in the same quiet 
way, to tell him that I was trying to teach his little 
boy to love Jesus Christ; and that I hoped we 
should all go to him by-and-by. Jack gave a satis- 
fied nod, and told me he would remember it. Accus- 
tomed as I was to his amazing realization of things 
unseen, I felt actually startled at such an instance 
of calm, sober, considerate anticipation of a change 



THE SHAMROCK. 53 

from which human nature shrinks with dismay. At 
the same time, it furnished me with a support under 
the trial, not to be recalled without admiring grati- 
tude to Him who wrought thus wondrously. 

And oh that we were all such Protestants as Jack 
was ! Popery he regarded as the destroyer of his 
beloved country : its priestly domination, its me- 
chanical devotions, were, in his mind, inseparably 
linked with the moral evils of which he had been, 
from infancy, a grieved and wondrous spectator — 
drunkenness and discord, especially. After he 
was spiritually enlightened, his view of the ' mys- 
tery of iniquity,' as opposed to Christ and his 
gospel, became most overpowering ! it was ever 
present to him ; and when actually dying, he gathered 
up all his failing energies into an awfully vehement 
protest against it : sternly frowning, while he de- 
nounced it as * A LIE !' This was followed by an 
act of beautiful surrender, of himself into the ' bleed- 
ing hand' of his ' One Jesus Christ,' as he loved 
to call him in contradistinction to the many saviours 
of unhappy Rome— and a pathetic entreaty to 
me, to pray, and to work for ' Jack's Poor Ireland.' 

I will do so, God helping me ; and happy shall I 
be, if some among my readers, when the little trefoil 
spreads its green mantle in their path, will remember 
the dumb boy, and fulfil his dying wish, by seeking 
occasion to promote the cause of Jesus Christ among 
the darkened population of ' Jack's poor Ireland.' 
5* 



CHAPTER IV 



THE HEART S-EASE. 



The winter of 1833-4 — by courtesy a winter- 
will long be remembered by florists, as having 
afforded them an unlooked-for feast. Its approach 
was heralded by such awful prognostications, found- 
ed like those of old, on the flight of birds, and other 
omens alike infallible and innumerable, interpreted 
by the most experienced seers — all tending to es- 
tablish the interesting fact, that an early, long-con- 
tinued winter of the keenest severity was about to 
commence its reign over us — that we began instinc- 
tively to examine our coal-cellers, number our blank- 
ets, and canvass the merits of rival furriers. Not 
being accustomed to place implicit confidence in that 
peculiar gift called weather-wisdom, I was exposed 
to many rebukes, by my temerity in not removing 
some lender plants, which were doomed to hope- 
less annihilation, by the aforesaid prognosticators, 
if left to brave the coming season, in its unparallel- 



THE HEART S-EASE. 55 

ed intensity. December came and went, leaving 
us many a bright rose-bud, intermixed with our 
holly-boughs ; January laid no very severe finger 
on them, though some rough easterly blasts scatter- 
ed a few of their opening petals ; but gave with 
the accustomed snow-drop, fair primroses, and 
fragrant violets, to laugh audacious defiance of the 
menaced blights. February blazed upon us in a 
flood of unwonted brightness, showering in our 
path such blossoms as rarely peep forth till late 
in Spring. Preparations were in forwardness for 
sending northward in c[uest of ice ; but they were 
suspended, in the anxious hope that such an un- 
natural state of things would soon give place to 
weather less portentous, less fraught with disap- 
pointment to the gourmand. Alas for the packers 
of fish, and coolers of wine and congealers of 
cream ! February went smiling out, and March, 
blustering March, came laughing in, arrayed in 
such a chaplet as he had scarcely ever before 
stolen. My garden is of moderate size, in the 
articles of sun and shade enjoying no peculiar ad- 
vantages above its neighbours ; nor enriched by a 
higher degree of cultivation ; yet within a small 
space of this garden, I counted, on the 6th of 
March, eighteen varieties of flowers in full beauty, 
while the fruit-trees put forth their buds in rich 
profusion, and the birds proclaimed a very diflerent 
story from that which had emanated from the 



56 



weather-office, in the prospective wisdom of its 
sundry clerks. My mignonette, my stocks, and 
wall-flowers, and vivid marigolds, had never quailed 
throughout the preceding months ; they continued 
blowing without intermission, yielding constant 
bouquets, with scarcely a perceptable diminution 
of their beautiful abundance ; and never had I been 
disappointed when looking for the smiling features 
of my loveliest charge — the small, but magnificent 
Heart's-ease. Two roots in particular, the one 
intermixing its gold with purple, the other with 
pure white, appeared to derive fresh brilliancy 
from the season, abundantly recompensing my daily 
visits. 

Sweet flower ! Tranquillity makes its lowly 
rest upon its dark green couch ; and cheerfulness 
is legibly written on every clear tint of its glossy 
petals. As a child, I loved that humble blossom ; 
and when childhood's happy days had long been 
flown, I loved it better than before. Yet it was 
not until within a comparatively short period that I 
found a human being altogether assimilating to it ; 
and since his transplantation to the garden of 
glorified spirits, nearly two years ago, I have pon- 
dered on the exquisite traits of his singular charac- 
ter, with a growing certainty that to me, and to 
many, he came as a warning voice to chide our 
sluggishness in that race wherein he strove, not as 
uncertainty, — wherein he ran, not as one that 



THE HEARTS'S-EASE. 57 

beateth the air, — wherein he struggled with all the 
energies of mind, and body, and spirit, to rend 
away every weight, to overthrow every obstacle, 
that could hinder him in pressing on towards the 
mark, the prize of his high calling in Christ 
Jesus. 

Many will recognize, even in such brief sketch 
as I can give, the friend who lived in their hearts' 
deepest recesses. It was his to be understood and 
appreciated, in an extraordinary degree, by all who 
surrounded him ; and though his death drew tears 
of poignant grief from every one who had known 
him, yet such had been his life, that we felt it 
almost criminal to mourn his entrance into immor- 
tality. 

" To hitn that overcometh," the promises are 
given, and what is it that man chiefly has to over- 
come ? Self, unquestionably. The world, the 
flesh, and the devil, are powerful enemies, but only 
through the medium of self can they assail us. 

D knew this, and his whole conduct was one 

beautiful, consistent evidence of a successful con- 
test with the selfish principle, so that, in all pertain- 
ing to outward things, he lived for others, but al- 
ways to the glory of God. Engaged in profession- 
al occupation, which only gave him the early 
morning, an hour at mid-day, and the evening, for 
his own disposal, he invariably devoted the lat- 
ter to the service of others, yet found no lack of 



58 THE heart's-ease. 

time for abundant reading, meditation, and secret 
prayer. 

On one occasion, when I admired the expertness 
with which he kindled a fire that had gone out, he 
said, * It is practice ; I always light my own fire.' 

* Why not employ the woman who attends your 
chambers V 

* For two reasons ; I want it much earlier than 
she could conveniently come ; and my thoughts 
flow on more evenly, when unbroken by the sight 
or the sound of another.' 

The time that he thus redeemed from slumber, 
was exclusively devoted to the nourishment of his 
own soul. He frequently recommended the practice 
to others ; enforcing it by the striking remark of 
Newton, that if the sack be filled at once with 
wheat, there will be no room for chaff. ' I fill my 
sack as early and as full as I can, at the footstool 

of the Lord,' said D ' or the devil would get in a 

bushel of chaff before breakfast.' Three hours at 
least were thus devoted, in the stillness of his 
chamber; and then, after a frugal repast, he sal- 
lied forth — so fresh, so cheerful, so full of bright 
and energetic life, that it was even as a beam of 
sunshine when he crossed our early path, with his 
joyous smile. Yes, he did then resemble the 
flower, vigorous from its bath of morning dew, 
spreading its fairest tints to the returning beam 
and breathing pure fragrance around it. 



THE heart's-ease. 59 

The mid-day hour was devoted to a meal as 
frugal as his breakfast. ' Those late dinners/ he 
once said, ' are thieves. They steal away one's 
time, and energy, and usefulness. I am naturally 
luxurious ; and should be the laziest dog on earth, 
if I treated myself to a full meal at that hour.' Ac- 
cordingly, when others repaired to the dinner table, 

D was on foot for some expedition fraught 

with usefulness ; most happy when, on those 
evenings devoted to public worship, he could win 
some thoughtless youth to sit with him, beneath 
the ministry of his beloved pastor — the pastor 
who had for five years been building him up on 
his most holy faith, while he himself drew many 

rich streams of spiritual thought from D , in 

the intercourse of that friendship wdiich linked 
them in the closest brotherhood. Very lovely and 
pleasant were those kindred spirits in their lives, 
and in death they were scarcely divided. A few 
months only intervened, ere Howels followed his 
beloved companion, to join in his new song before 
the throne of the Lamb. 

In his perpetual renunciation of self, there was 
a singular judgment, a striking discrimination in 

D 's method of laying himself out for the 

benefit of others. To please was his delight ; but 
never did he lose sight of that neglected rule of 
" pleasing his neighbour to edification." His spirits 
were light, and his temper joyous in the extreme. 



60 



The frank cordiality of his address bore down all 
the frost-work of hearts, even the most unlike his 
own. His manly sense won the respect of many 
who were bhnd to the more spiritual gifts ; and 
frequently did it pioneer his way, with such char- 
acters, when bringing forward-^as he invariably 
did — the grand topic of christian faith and practice. 
Assuredly God gave him this favor in the sight of 
men, to render his short, but bright career more 
extensively useful. 

And where, does my reader think, where did 

T> , thus accomplished, thus fitted to shine, and 

to captivate, to win, and convince — especially love 
to exercise his gifts for his dear Master's glory ? 
Those who know not the metropolis of England 
cannot estimate the force of my reply. In the 
dark recesses of St. Giles'. Totally unconnected 
with Ireland, never having even beheld her green 
shores, he devoted himself to the cause of her out- 
cast children, with a zeal and a fervency, and a per- 
severance, that I never understood until I saw 
some of those poor creatures looking down into his 
open grave. Then I comprehended how God had 
put it into his heart so to work, while yet it is 
called to-day, as the night was suddenly to close 
upon the scene of his mortahty, when he should 
work no longer. 

■■ It is one characteristic of the heart's-ease, to 
spring up in corners where no other flower, per- 



THE HEARtVeASE. 61 

haps, is found: to plant its flexile roots among 
heaps of rubbish ; to peep out from tufts of grass, 
and even to spread its little lovely coat of many 
colours on the walk of stony gravel. We wonder 
to see it there ; but never wish it away. And 
thus, go where you would, into the haunts of utter 
destitution, of lowest debasement of most hardened 
depravit}^, there, ever engaged in his work of 

mercy, you were likely to meet D . Those 

natural characteristics of which I have spoken, 
more particularly the frank hilarity of his address, 
endeared him to the open-hearted Irish; and he 
hailed their evident partiality as a token that the 
Lord had willed him to work in that most desolate 

corner of His vineyard. But D did nothing 

by fits and starts : all was, with him first planned, 
then executed ; and what, he once undertook, in the 
spirit of faith and of prayer, he never abandoned. 
In one of the streets of that wretched district is 
a blessed institution, known by the name of St. 
Giles' Irish Free Schools. Suclr a collection of 
little ragged, dirty, squalid beings as assemble in 
it, can hardly be paralleled in London : and here, 
on the very top of the unseemly heap, did this 
spiritual heart's-ease plant himself. No ! here the 
Lord planted him, and here he delighted to abide. 
From sabbath to sabbath he was found at his post, 
directing, controling, encouraging, leading the ex- 
ercise of prayer and praise, as one whose soul 
6 



62 THE heart's-ease, 

was engaged in wrestling with God, for the wild 
and wayward creatures around him. I am not 
writing fiction : many a tear will bear witness that 
I am not, when this page meets the eye of those 
who laboured with him. Have we not seen the 
smile of triumphant anticipation, against hope be- 
lieving in hope, while, with one hand resting on a 
slender pillar, and his eye taking in the whole 
group, he led the children in their favourite hymn — 
* Jesus shall reign where'er the sun,' &c. 

Oh ! how did his tender and compassionate heart 
yearn over those little perishing creatures ! How 
ardently did he, on their behalf, supplicate for that 
display of healing power under which 

' The weary find eternal rest, 
And all the sons of want are blest.' 

That school was the dearest object of D 's 

solicitude ; it flourished under his hand — it drooped 
at his departure ; it is struggling on, in a precarious 

existence now ; for who like D can plead and 

work for it. 

In the month of April, 1832, a dreadful fever 
was raging in our unhappy Irish district ; and 
many perished, for want of attentions which it was 
impossible to procure. Much was done by com- 
passionate Christians, but few suspected the ex- 
tent to which D carried his self-devotion. It 

was a time of much professional business, and he 
could rarely leave his desk until late in the evening : 



THE heart's -EASE. 63 

when — at midnight— he has gone to the dying 
poor, in the cellars of St. Giles', with such supplies 
as he could collect; and fed them, and prayed 
with them, and smoothed down their wretched 
couches of straw and rags. Unable to meet the 
demands on his bounty, he nearly starved himself, 
to hoard up every possible supply for his famish- 
ing nurslings. The last time that he visited me, I 
inquired concerning a poor Jrish family for whom I 
was interested. 

* They are all in the fever,' repHed D, ' one sweet 
little boy lying dead ; the father will follow next.' 

* But if all are ill, who nurses them V 

' Don't be uneasy ; the Lord careth for the poor. 
By his grace I nurse them when I can. Last 
night I took a supply of arrow-root, and fed them 
all round ; not one was able to lift a spoon — parents 
and children helpless alike.' 

I trembled, well knowing the extreme peril to 
which he must be exposed ; but he turned the 
discourse to the evident opening of the father's 
mind, and the happy confidence which he felt con- 
cerning the dead child : expatiating on the glories 
of heaven, as one whose heart was already there. 
Twenty-one days afterwards the three survivors 
of that family, so tenderly nursed, crawled out to 
see their benefactor buried. He had closed the 
eyes of the father, who departed, rejoicing in the 
full assurance of that hope which D. had first set 



64 



before him ; and then he sunk under the fever, and 
died of it. 

I saw him in his coffin : he was withered and 
changed by the devastating violence of that mahg- 
nant fever— changed as completely, almost as 
rapidly, as the flower whose petals are defaced, and 
marred, and rolled together, never more to expand. 
Yet amidst all, there lingered an expression belong- 
ing not to the children of this world. It spoke a 
conflict, but it also tolciof a victory, such as man un- 
assisted can never achieve. I knew not until after- 
wards, what words had expressed the dying expe- 
rience of that glorified saint. At the very last, at 
the threshold of immortality, he had slowly and 
solemnly uttered them : — ' Mighty power of Christ ! 
to give a poor sinner the victory even in death !' 

Yes ; though death had laid upon him a hand 
that might not be resisted, though every mortal 
energy was prostrated, and icy chains fast wrapped 
around his suff"ering body, — though crushed into 
the dust, and speedily to crumble beneath it, he 
grasped the victory, he felt it in his grasp ; and 
the glorious truth which in its height, and length, 
and depth, and breadth, he had appeared remarkably 
to realize in his life-time, shed splendour unutterable 
on his dying hour. — " Nevertheless I live ; yet not 
I, but Christ liveth in me." 

With D , religion was altogether a sub- 
stance : nothing shadowy, nothing theoretical or 



THE HEART S-EASE. 65 

speculative had any place in him. He coveted 
clear views, that by them he might lay hold on 
right principles ; not to gather their flov^^ers in a 
showy bouquet, but to get their deepest roots fast 
planted in his soul. I never saw one, who seemed 
so totally to forget the things which were behind, 
while reaching forth to those which were before. 
The only subject on which I ever knew him to ex- 
press impatience, was the slowness, as he consider- 
ed it, of his growth in grace. Of this he spoke 
even bitterly : often taxing me with indifference to 
his spiritual welfare, because I did not urge him on- 
ward, when, perhaps, I was contemplating witli 
secret dismay, the immeasurable distance at which 
he left us all in the race. ' If you make no better 
progress than I do,' he once said, ' it is an awful 
sign of a sluggish spirit. Yet proceed warily — 
make sure of every step; for many in this day 
are running fast and far, they know not whither,' 
The shining heart's-ease will continue to expand 

throughout the year : the memory of D will 

be written on every successive blossom : and I 
cannot promise that in some future month, if God 
spares me, I may not resume the subject of this 
chapter. When gayer flowers have enjoyed their 
summer day, our heart's-ease will survive many 
painted wrecks : and then it may come forth again, 
to speak of one who never spoke to me but for the 
glory of his God, and the spiritual welfare of his 
6* 



66 THE heart's-ease. 

friend: who dearly loved to follow the wonder* 
working hand of creative power in its glorious dis- 
plays throughout the visible w^orld, and to trace the 
beautiful analogy subsisting between the providen- 
tial government without, and the rule of grace 
within us. He understood the privilege of giv- 
ing, as it were, a tongue to every object, that all 
might unite in one harmonious song of praise. 
This formed a conspicuous tie among the many 

that appeared to bind the spirit of D with that 

of my dumb boy, in such perfect fellowship ; per- 
fect indeed beyond what poor mortality may con- 
ceive. 



CHAPTER V. 



THE HAWTHORN. 



The changeableness of earthly things has been 
always a favourite and a fruitful theme, alike with 
the worldly moralist and the more spiritual in- 
structor. The mutations of vegetable life, in par- 
ticular, appear to have presented an obvious lesson, 
known and read of all men. The pagan Homer 
could tell us — 

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground. 

Holy scripture abounds with sublime and touch- 
ing allusions to the same affecting memento of 
life's transitory bloom. Who has not felt the 
thrilling power of those words, so appropriately 
introduced in our funeral service, — " Man that is 
born of a woman is of few days, and full of trou- 
ble ; he cometh forth and is cut down like a flower" 



68 THE HAWTHORN. 

The pride of my little stand, last winter, was a 
white Camelia Japonica, gracefully towering above 
its companions, terminating in one of the richest 
floral gems that I ever beheld. Summoning, one 
day, some young friends to admire it, I was start- 
led to find the stalk bare ; and, looking down, I 
saw the petals, not scattered about, but fallen into a 
half-empty flower-pot, upon the lowest round, where 
they laid in such a snowy mass of death-like 
beauty, as perfectly embodied that vague idea — 
the corpse of a flower. 

Yet, in general, the evanescence of these bright 
and beautiful creations affects me far less than 
their unchangeableness. Individually, the florets 
may perish in a day ; but succeeding families 
appear, formed and pencilled, and tinted with such 
undeviating fidelity, as to bewilder the imagina- 
tion ; leading it back, step by step, through seasons 
that have been crowned with the same unfailing 
wreaths. The flowers of this year come not to 
me as strangers, never seen before ; I can select 
and group the difl'erent species, as of old, and gaze 
upon them with the eye and the heart of delighted 
welcome : for surely these are loved companions, 
revisiting my home, to awaken recollections of 
the many hours that we have passed together — 
hours of joy, rendered more joyous by their glad- 
dening smiles ; hours of sorrow, when, in silent 



THE HAWTHORN. 69 

sympathy, they seemed to droop and to die, because 
my spirit was wounded, and my visions of worldly 
bliss fading into hopeless gloom. 

May bears many flowers ; but that to which it 
gives its own bright name — the simple blossom of 
the common hawthorn — is the flower that I take 
to my bosom, and water with my tears ; and would 
fain bid it linger through every changeful season. 
I cannot even remember the date of the identifica- 
tion which invests this blossom with a character of 
such fond and sacred endearment : it is coeval 
with my early infancy. The month of May gave 
me a beautiful little brother, when I was myself 
yet but a babe : and it was natural that a thing so 
sweet, and soft, and fair, should be compared to 
the lovely bud which usually shed its first fra- 
grance about the very day of his birth, in the mid- 
dle of the month. I have no earlier recollection, 
nor any more vivid, than that of standing with 
my sweet companion under the hedge-row, to us 
of inaccessible height, eagerly watching the move- 
ment of our father's arm, while he bent the lofty 
branches downward, that we might with our own 
hands gather the pearly clusters selected to adorn 
our little flower jars. A bough of larger dimen- 
sions was selected, and carefully severed with his 
pocket-knife, to overspread the hearth, where, 
planted in a vase, it completely hid the parlour 
grate, delighting us with its beauty ; which we then 



70 THE HAWTHORN. 

verily believed to be bestowed for the express pur- 
pose of honouring our domestic /e^e. 

Years rolled over us : to others they were years 
of mingled cloud and sunshine, but to us they 
brought no sorrow, for we were not parted. 
Sheltered in the house of our birth, never trans- 
planted to unlearn in other habitations the sweet 
lesson of mutual love and confidence, the early 
link was not broken ; other companionship was 
unsought, undesired. Early associations lost none 
of their endearing power ; and the hawthorn 
hedge, perfectly accessible to the tall lad and 
active lass, was visited by them as punctually on 
the morning of their pleasantest anniversary, as it 
had been by the lisping babes of three or four 
short summers. 

I never went alone to gather the May-blossoms, 
until my companion had crossed the sea, and 
drawn the sword in the battle-fields. I did indeed 
then go there alone, for this world contained not 
one who could supply his place to me ; and be- 
yond this world I had not learned to look. I was 
solitary, in the fullest sense of the word, and very 
sad at heart ; but deeply imbued with the same 
chivalrous spirit which had led my brother from 
his happy home, to scenes of deadly strife : I 
strove, by the false glare of imagined glory — that 
glory which is indeed as a flower of the field — to 
dazzle my tearful eyes. I intermixed my haw- 



THE HAWTHORN. 71 

thorn blossom with boughs of laurel, and soothed 
my agitated feelings with the dreams of martial re- 
nown : yet, even then, the voice had spoken to my 
inmost soul, that vanity of vanities was written on 
the best of my choice things. I felt, but under- 
stood not, and stifled the whisper; and when 
again the sunburnt soldier, smiling at my pertina- 
cious adherence to the childish commemoration, 
playfully showered the May-blossoms on my head, 
I felt as though my home was certainly on earth, 
and my dwelling-place should abide there for ever. 

But my heavenly Father had other views for 
me, and I was put to school. Very hard to a 
proud heart and carnal mind was the lesson that I 
had to learn ; but my Teacher was omnipotent, he 
subdued my will, and brought me — poor blind 
rebel ! by a way which I knew not. Upon the 
darkness that overshadowed my painful path he 
poured light, and opened to my eyes the gates of 
life and immortality. Then I went on my way 
rejoicing ; but one thing was wanting, and that one 
of the dearest of all created things. I was alone : 
the beloved companion of infancy and childhood 
was far away under a foreign sky ; earthly ties 
multiplying around him, and not a voice to proclaim 
the solemn admonition, ' This is not your rest : it 
is polluted.' 

Sweet blossoms of May ! year after year I 
marked them unfolding, and every opening bud 



72 



THE HAWTHORN. 



told me a tale of hope and confidence. Returning 
still in their appointed season, they were never 
sought in vain. Why ? " For that He is strong in 
power, not one faileth." Day and night, summer 
and winter, seedtime and harvest, came and went. 
Their quiet rotation none might interrupt : they 
were ordained as tokens of a covenant between 
God the creator and his creature man ; and this 
again was the type of a better covenant between 
God the Redeemer and his ransomed family. I 
had no express promise that such or such a soul 
should be saved at my request : but I had in my- 
self a token for good ; — the spirit of earnest, per- 
severing, importunate prayer, for one who was to 
me as a second self. I had waited and prayed 
through eight successive years, — still reading upon 
the simple hawthorn flower, an admonition to 
pray and to wait, — before a gleam of actual glad- 
ness broke upon me. On the ninth anniversary, 
from the period whence I ventured to date my 
own deliverance from spiritual darkness, I was 
privileged to deck my brother's hearth with the 
snowy flower ; and while his little ones aided in 
the task, I could send up a secret thanksgiving, 
that at length the means of grace were vouchsafed 
— at length the glorious gospel was weekly pro- 
claimed to him ; and while I numbered the buds, 
I numbered the promises too : for that He is strong 
in power, not one had yet failed. 



THE HAWTHORN. 73 

The day returned — it was a late cold spring and 
only a few half-opened blossoms rewarded my 
anxious search. I was well-pleased, for the tree 
furnished a type of him for whom my soul wres- 
tled hourly with my God. There were graces in 
the bud, giving promise, but as yet no more : lying 
concealed, too, except from the watchful eye of 
solicitous love. I placed the little round pearly 
things, hardly peeping from their green inclosures, 
upon his study table ; mentally anticipating a far 
richer developement both of flowers and Christian 
graces, when another year should have passed 
away. It did pass, and a brilliant season brought 
the next May flowers to early perfection ; whether 
the type held good, I know not — he was far from 
me — but never can I forget the eagerness of sup- 
plication into which my spirit was wrought at that 
period. I had no assignable reason for it ; yet I 
called on friends to make continual intercession on 
his behalf. I thought it long to wait, and impa- 
tiently asked. How often shall the returning sea- 
sons speak only of hope ? When shall they bid me 
rejoice ? 

" My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are 
your ways my ways, sailh the Lord." I have pon- 
dered on those words, when I saw the glory of 
creation withering, and its loveliness fading away 
beneath the first chills of winter. I have dwelt 
more deeply upon them, when my best purposes 
7 



74 THE HAWTHORN. 

were crossed, my fairest anticipations blighted, and 
my attempts at usefulness repelled by unforseen, 
insurmountable obstacles. But if ever those words 
sank with abiding power into my heart, it was 
when I went to gather a solitary blossom of May, 
and hid in the folds of my sable weeds, while im- 
agination travelled to the distant spot where the 
wind was scattering such tiny petals over a grave, 
which man's thoughts would call most untimely : 
— a grave dug where the grass had scarcely re- 
covered from the pressure of his firm, yet buoyant 
step : — a grave, into which he went down, without 
a moment's warning : yes, as a flower of the field, 
so he flourished. In the morning he was as bright, 
as beautiful, as joyous, as any creature basking in 
the light of that summer day, — in the evening he 
was cut down and withered. He around whom the 
deadliest weapons of war had often flashed in vain, 
who had seen a thousand fall beside him, while not 
a hair of his head was touched — who had encoun- 
tered storm and shipwreck, pestilence and famine, 
and almost every description of peril, with perfect 
immunity from all that overwhelmed others, — he 
was reserved to die in the midst of life, and health, 
and peace, and sunshine, and prosperity. 

" As the heavens are higher than the earth, so 
are my ways higher than your ways, and my 
thoughts than your thoughts." It is the Christian's 
privilege no less than his duty, to walk by faith and 



THE HAWTHORN. 75 

not by sight, and this we readily admit ; but let the 
lesson be brought home to our bosoms, and what 
wretched learners are we ! We sow the grain, and 
fully expect to reap our fields in the appointed 
weeks of harvest : ask the natural man whence his 
confident anticipation of such an issue to his hus- 
bandry — he will tell you that he trusts to nature, 
because her operations are uniform, and have never, 
in the ordinary course of events, been known to 
fail. Are those two immutable things, the promise 
and the oath of Him who is the Author of nature, 
less trust-worthy than April showers, and summer 
beams ? Alas ! we must answer in the affirmative, 
if we square our words to our thoughts and actions ; 
for notwithstanding the unutterably rich profusion 
of promises studding the whole book of God, as 
thickly as the stars bestud the evening sky, we 
bring our unbelief in desperate resistance to the 
fulfilment of our prayer, .mentally crying, Let 
Him hasten his work that we may see it. Except 
I see, I will not believe. Had I been left, to this 
day, in the ignorance of the spiritual state of that 
dear brother — as I was, until long after his depar- 
ture, — I could not sorrow as one without hope, 
remembering the many encouragements given to 
persevere even unto the end, after the example of 
the Canaanitish woman ; but the trial, though se- 
vere, was not long ; and solid grounds were afford- 
ed of a delightful assurance, that even in the sight 



76 THE HAWTHORN. 

of men, that work was begun in him, which God 
never commences to leave unfinished ; though 
sometimes drawing a veil, and from its obscurity- 
breathing into our souls the memorable word, 
*' Only believe and thou shalt see the glory of 
God." 

I could murmur that the hawthorn blossom has 
this year unfolded prematurely beneath the unwon- 
ted softness of the season ; but ever welcome be 
the endeared type ! shall we quarrel with the ra- 
pidity of God's mercies, and lament the untimely 
perfecting of a glorifie'd spirit ? If the flowers be 
withered, the fruit will tell that they have verily 
bloomed, and left an endearing record of their 
existence ; but some lingering blossom I shall find 
to speak of what needs no memento. It was once 
my lot to pass a spring in a distant country, so 
bleak and barren that, throughout the whole terri- 
tory, only one attempt at cultivating the hawthorn 
had succeeded, and that consisted of a few yards 
of hedging close to my abode. How sweet was 
the smile with which its white flowers seemed to 
look out upon the poor stranger, speaking not merely 
of home, but of all that had made home pleasant 
to my happy childhood ! The colonists prized 
their hawthorn hedge, and pointed it out with pride, 
to their curious children, descanting on the beauties 
of English landscape ; but who among them could 
love it as I did ? 



THE HAWTHORN. 77 

The character of him who forms the subject 
of these reminiscences, was in perfect miison with 
the flower. He was singularly beautiful in person, 
in temper most joyous, and of a disposition that 
diffused sunshine around him. The most superfi- 
cial observer could not pass him by unremarked ; 
the deepest investigator found abundance to repay 
his close inspection. Many a delicate trait invited 
the latter ; while the former could not but recog- 
nize a union of attractiveness and worth not often 
meeting in one individual. To me he was a fence 
as pleasant and as precious as Jonah's gourd, 
sheltering me from the vehement wind. But 
though so many sad thoughts are now written on 
the fair blossom of May, it likewise presents a 
sacred Eben-ezer of unnumbered mercies, which 
have followed me all the days of my life ; and 
which follow me yet, as surely as the leaves re- 
appear to clothe the stems that winter had de- 
nuded. " For that he is strong in power not one 
faileth." 

And here T had intended to close this paper, but 
I cannot. A circumstance most unexpected has 
occurred, even while I was in the very act of pre- 
paring to send these pages to the press ; and I 
must not withhold the ascription of praise to Him 
who now, at the end of several years, has given 
me to see a cluster of fruit from the sweet blos- 
som of Christian promise, that seemed so sudden- 



78 THE HAWTHORN. 

ly to fall and die. I was yet pondering with tear- 
ful eyes on this poor record of departed gladness, 
when a letter reached me from one who labours in 
his Master's cause among the deluded people of 
Ireland. He asked me to plead for an estimable 
society, established in the diocese of Tuam, for 
the education of poor children ; and subjoins ' one 
of our best schools was instituted by your late la- 
mented brother.'' Now, to the glory of God's grace 
be it spoken, He never yet left me without some to- 
ken for good, when my mind had been strongly exer- 
cised on the glorious subject of his faithfulness and 
truth. I had even questioned whether it would be 
expedient to send forth this story of hopes and 
prayers, where many might doubt whether they 
had been fulfilled : and I do not envy the faith or 
the feeling of that person who should chide me, 
for recognizing in this case a distinct message of 
encouragement from Him whom I have dared to 
trust. 

I knew long since that my dear brother, shortly 
before his death had discovered a little hedge- 
school in a remote part of that country, which he 
only visited to find a grave beneath its sod. I 
knew that he had compassionated its destitute case, 
and obtained for the children a small supply of re- 
ligious books : but I never knew, never suspected, 
that the Lord had put such honour upon his work, 
as to bid it grow up into an important establishment 



THE HAWTHORN. 79 

of truly spiritual instruction, and to stand forth among 
a little cluster, appointed to shed abroad the light of 
life and immortality over those regions of darkness 
and the shadow of death. I cannot communi- 
cate to my readers my own peculiar feelings, but 
fain would I speak of hope and joy, to those who 
go in heaviness for souls not yet brought under the 
power of divine truth ; fain would I urge them 
always to pray, and never to faint ; fain would I per- 
suade them, when looking abroad on the bursting 
buds, the unfolding leaves, the embryo fruits of 
May, to read on every petal, every pod, the soul- 
cheering invitation, " Lift up your eyes on high, 
and behold ! who hath created these things, that 
bringeth out their host by number : he calleth 
them all by names, by the greatness of his might, 
for that he is strong in power, " not one faileth." 



CHAPTER VI. 



THE WHITE ROSE. 



Brilliant month of June ! What an accumula 
tion of treasures are scattered over the face of the 
florist's domain by thy liberal hand. Or rather, 
since those figurative expressions steal away the 
ascriptions of praise from him to whom they 
should ever ascend, and scatter them among the 
clouds of pagan imaginations, rather let me say, 
how richly has the Lord our God dealt forth his 
unmerited bounties ; on how many fair pages, of 
ever-varying beauty and grace, has he written the 
story of his compassionate love to man — the me- 
morial of that blessedness which they alone enjoy 
who seek his face. That the flower-garden is a 
type, the most cursory glance ought to convince us 
— the outline cannot be mistaken, by one who con 
siders it with that reference to spiritual things 
which the Christian should not — cannot lose sight 
of: but there is, in the ample detail of all its deli- 



THE WHITE ROSE. 81 

cate iilling-up, such a perfect correspondence, that 
the more we study it, the fuller will be our appre- 
ciation of that expressive promise to the church, 
'' Thou shalt be like a watered garden." 

Watered by the soft dews and coohng rain of 
spring, we have seen the plants arise from their 
dark chambers, and shake off the dust, and unfold 
their bright bosoms to the sun. Always to the 
sun. Called into existence by his vivifying power, 
and ripened in its pod by his steady rays, the seed, 
in its earliest state and most shrouded form, was 
altogether his work. It never would have been, 
independent of his influence, and under that influ- 
ence it was preserved, until, having been placed 
where it should become fruitful, the germinating 
process had brought it forth into open day — no 
longer a seed, but a plant. And when its beauti- 
ful garments are put on, when it stands so clothed 
that Solomon in all his glory could not compare 
with it, what does the flower, in this watered gar- 
den ? It turns to him whose creative power and 
preserving care have led it to its new state of 
being — it turns to bask in the full glow of trans- 
forming LOVE ; it looks upward ; and upward it 
sends that rich fragrance which never dwelt in the 
original seed, or in the mass of polluted earth 
where its first habitation was fixed ; a fragrance 
that belongs only to its expanded state. Thomson 
has very elegantly expressed this : 



82 THE WHITE ROSE. 

• Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 

In mingled clouds to him whose sun exalts, 

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.' 

Yet Thomson only saw with the perception of taste, 
and by the exercise of natural reason argued frora 
the things that are seen to the invisible First Cause. 
Alas ! that many who have been deeply taught of 
the Holy Spirit to view all in Christ, and Christ in 
all, should often come so very far short of even 
this ascription, when looking upon their watered 
gardens of perishing flowers ! 

I am shamed by every weed that grows, when I 
bring myself to this test — when I compare the dili- 
gence with which each tiny blossom seeks the 
beams of the summer sun, with my sad unheedful- 
ness in striving to catch the far brighter beams of 
that eternal Sun, without whose life-giving light 
my soul cannot be sustained. The favourite 
edging of my flower-beds is singularly eloquent 
on this point. Heart's-ease composes it ; and 
while the border that faces the south exhibits its 
beautiful little flowers on short stems, basking tran- 
quilly in the ray, displaying a broad uniform sheet 
of gold, and silver, and purple, — the strips that run 
from south to north ; appear as with their heads 
turned, by an efibrt, out of the natural posture, 
that they too may gaze, and shine. To complete 
the picture, where a little hedge throws its shad- 
dow over another bank of my heart's-ease, I see 



THE WHITE ROSE. 88 

them rising on stems, thrice the length of their op- 
posite neighbours', perfectly erect, and stretching 
upwards as if to overtop the barrier, that they 
too may rejoice in the sunshine which gladdens 
the earth. 

Beautiful at all times, when are flowers most 
beautiful ? To this question each will reply, ac- 
cording to his peculiar tastes and preferences. 
For myself, I must declare that they never look so 
lovely in my sight, as when brought to wither 
gently on the bed of death. 

It was in the land of warm deep feelings — the 
country which I must needs be continually bringing 
before my readers, if my hand be prompted by 
the abundance of my heart — It was in Ireland, 
that I made this discovery. It was well known 
how revolting are the scenes of riot and debauche- 
ry usually presented at an Irish wake : the very 
name is an abhorrence to those who comprehend 
its character, as practised in the south of Ireland, 
among the Roman Catholic population. Yet a 
wake, kept by some humble Roman Catholics in 
the South of Ireland, is one of the spectacles to 
which my memory often reverts with delight ; as- 
sociating with it all that is most touchingly lovely 
in the world of flowers. 

The boy was not two years old, who lay stretch- 
ed on a little couch, over which the hand of affec 
lion had festooned a drapery of delicate white 



84 THE WHITE ROSE. 

muslin, confined here and there with bows of 
white satin ribbond, w^hile a dress of the same ma- 
terials enfolded the corpse : his little cap just sha- 
ding the soft bright locks that alone varied the 
snow-like appearance of the whole object, until 
the last finish was given to the careful arrange- 
ment, by disposing small bunches of delicate 
flowers, and young green leaves upon the pillow, 
the coverlet, and the surrounding drapery. The 
child was very beautiful when living ; in death, 
surpassingly so. If real grandeur is any where 
on earth to be found, it dwells on the broad open 
brov/ of infantine beauty, ere the conciousness of 
wilful sin has marred its native majesty. Often 
have I quailed before the steadfast gaze of a very 
young child ; almost forgetting that the little crea- 
ture, who looked so bold in comparative innocence, 
was already a condemned sinner : — that, though 
of such is the kingdom of heaven, it is only by 
the atoning blood of the cross that a being so 
polluted can enter there. But infancy in death — 
infancy snatched from an evil world, ere the taint 
can overspread its unfolding mind — infancy re- 
deemed, and rescued, and exalted to behold always 
the face of God in heaven — is indeed a glorious 
spectacle. Where is the Christian parent, whose 
bitterest tears have been unmixed with the sweet- 
ness of assured hope, when contemplating the be- 
reavment of a babe, not lost, but gone before ? — 



THE WHITE ROSE. 85 

gone to Him wliose compassionate bosom is ever 
open to receive his lambs ; his hand always extend- 
ed to wipe the tear-drops— the few and transient 
tear-drops of infancy — for ever from their eyes. 

But I must return to the Irish baby, who lay in 
slate, not after the fashion of this world's great ones, 
but to indulge the fond and superstitious feelings 
of his family : three generations of whom had as- 
sisted to adorn him for this customary display. 
Glancing around me, I beheld with surprise four 
large candles burning, though scarcely visible in 
the glowing sunbeams that fell upon them from a 
western window. Behind these superfluous lights, 
a large crucifix was fastened to the wall, termina- 
ting in a bowl well filled with holy water. On a 
table, together with the good cheer inseparable 
from a wake, were displayed other symbols of a 
worship clearly idolatrous : while whispered invo- 
cations, addressed to the helpless mediators on 
whom the church of Rome instructs her deluded 
people to call, completed a scene that filled my 
heart with sadness when I looked upon the living, 
and my soul with rejoicing, as again I turned to 
contemplate the dead. 

It is impossible to describe the force of the con- 
trast. The paraphernalia of a worship at once 
sensual and senseless, mingled with the gross ali- 
ment of the body, with the coarse luxuries of to- 
bacco, and snufF, bottles of whiskey and jugs of 
8 



86 fHfi WHITE ROSE. 

beer, all confused in the red, smoky atmosphere 
of dim candles : these were on my left hand. I 
turned to the right, and beheld the fair casket of a 
jewel lately rescued from the evil grasp — the calm 
and majestic countenance of a creature, originally 
formed in the image of God, and by the sacrifice 
of God's dear Son, made near once more, and for 
ever. Over this beautiful object stole the purest 
beams of a setting sun, bathing it in soft brillian- 
cy ; while the flowers, the innocent smiling flow- 
ers that reposed above, and beside, and around him 
— not in profusion, but at such intervals as gave the 
full efl'ect to each individual blossom — these appear- 
ed to claim, as their sweet companion, the little body 
so like themselves, in its short, sunshiny existence, 
its peaceful decay, its future uprising from the 
dust of the earth, to light, and life, and glory. 

Happy spirit ! Like a bird out of the snare of 
the fowler, he had escaped the chains that supersti- 
tion was forging to hold him back from God. 
Before that idol crucifix he had never bent ; to the 
water beneath it he had never looked for sanctify- 
ing influences. He had not dishonoured the most 
high God his Saviour, by giving glory to other 
names : nor had he sought unto man for the par- 
don which Cometh from God alone. Too young to 
sin " after the similitude of Adam's transgression" 
by voluntary disobedience, he was by natural inher- 
itance an heir of wrath, an alien from God : too 



THE WHITE ROSE. 87 

young to exercise faith on Christ, how precious as 
I looked on him, was the assurance, that the blood 
shed as a propitiation for the sins of the whole 
world, embraced his case, and opened to him the 
heavenly kingdom. My mind was engrossed by 
the deep and clear argument of the apostle, in 
the fifth chapter of the epistle to the Romans, 
which to m€ brings perfect conviction as to the 
eternal safety of oil who die in infancy. Like 
the early dew, they just visit our earth, and once 
brought within the influence of the Sun of right- 
eousness, 'they sparkle, are exhaled, and go to 
heaven.' 

There are many flowers that speak to me of 
early happy death. The lily of the valley is one : 
but the fairest is the white moss-rose. I have 
never yet attached it to -any individual character : 
but behold in its faint blush, scarcely perceptible, 
the last delicate hue of animation quietly fading 
from a young face where the pulse throb no longer. 
The usual plan, as I have seen it adopted among 
the poor Irish, is to lay out the body of the dead 
on an elevated couch, or table, in the corner of 
a room ; one wall forming the head, another the 
side, of the temporary bed. Against these walls 
they suspended a white sheet, pinning bouquets 
here and there ; and as the flowers begin to drop, 
bending their heads downward, it requires no very 
great power of imagination to read the type — ■ 



fi8 THE WHITE ROSE. 

ihey seem to gaze upon the corpse, repeating the 
humihating doom, ahke apphcable to both — dust 
we are, and unto dust we shall return, I could 
not look on such a spectacle without beholding the 
garden of Eden, by man's transgression rendered 
desolate, and perishing, alas ! in man's destruction 
—the creatures, the innocent and beautiful crea- 
tures of God's hand, made subject to vanity 
through our sinfulness ; fading and falling into one 
common graA^e. The pall may spread its velvet 
folds, and the sable plumes bow in stately gloom 
over the dead ; but a single white rose, drooping 
amid its dark foliage, tells the story more touchingly, 
and with more eloquent sympathy, than all that the 
art of man may contrive, to invest sorrow in a 
deeper shade of woe. 

" Thou shalt be like a watered garden," says 
the Lord to the believing soul, whose grace shall 
spring up and flourish, and be fruitful, to the praise 
of the glory of his grace, who visits it with the 
small, quiet rain of his life-giving Spirit. " Thou 
shalt be like a watered garden," he says to his 
church, as one sleeper after another awakes, and 
arises from spiritual death, and receives light 
from Christ, growing up among the trees of his 
planting, that he may be glorified in the abundant 
accession to his vineyard on its very fruitful hill. 
" Thou shalt be like a watered garden," the Lord 
says to this wide earth, destined in the appointed 



THE WHITE ROSE. 89 

day to see her dead men live — ihey that dwell in 
the dust of many ages, awake and sing — a dew as 
the dew of herbs falling upon her graves, and the 
bodies of the saints that slept issuing forth in the 
brilliancy of celestial beauty. Then that which 
was sown in corruption shall be raised in incorrup- 
tion : that which was sown in dishonour shall be 
raised in glory : that which was sown in weakness 
shall be raised in power : that which was sown a 
poor, vile, natural body, shall be raised a spiritual 
body, like to the glorious body of Christ, accord- 
ing to the mighty working whereby he is able to 
subdue all things — yea, even death, and the grave, 
and destruction — unto himself. Has he not given 
us an earnest of this, in the vivid forms that spring 
on every hand, as we tread the garden and the 
grove ? Shall we look upon this annual resurrec- 
tion, and not give thanks unto him for his great 
power ? Shall we disdain to acknowledge the be- 
nevolence of that divine skill which has taken of 
the common elements, and spread them out into 
such lovely forms, and tinted them with such re- 
splendent hues, and finished the delicate pencilling 
with such exquisite art, and planted them in our 
daily, hourly path, breathing delicious fragrance ; 
and, to crown all, bade us consider them how they 
grow, as an earnest of the tender care that he is 
pledged to take of us, his obdurate, unthankful 
.children ! 

8* 



90 THE WHITE ROSE. 

Lord of all power and might ! all thy other 
works do naturally praise thee ; but such is the dark- 
ness of man's heart, that it is only by the application 
of that spiritual gift which was purchased by the 
blood of Christ, that even thy saints can be im- 
pelled to give due thanks unto thee for thy great 
love, while thou clothest the grass that makes 
pleasant their footpath over this magnificent wreck 
of a glorious world ! 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE CARNATION. 



There are many disadvantages in writing periodi- 
cally on a given subject. Other engagements, 
combined which the treacherous spirit of procras- 
tination, will lead us to defer the work, until the 
consciousness of a waiting press throws a feeling 
of hurry and anxiety upon the mind, which is sure 
to fetter its operations, just as they need to be 
most vigorously performed. It was under such 
a consciousness, that I strolled forth this morning 
to look upon the languid flowers. A long drought 
had sadly changed the aspect of my usually soft 
and verdant grass-plat; the trees that cluster 
around it presenting quite an autumnal tint, from 
the number of faded leaves ; while, on the border 
open to the south, such an array of shrivelled 
petals and whithering buds disfigured the tall rose- 
trees that expanded upon the wall, that while I 
gazed, my spirit drooped in sullen sympathy ; and 
having bound some straggling carnations to the 
sticks which I could scarcely drive into the baked 



92 THE CARNATION. 

soil, I returned to my study, with as little inclina- 
tion to write about flowers, as a sick person usual- 
ly has to partake of a substantial meal. 

On a sudden, and most unexpectedly, a dark 
cloud which had rapidly overspread the sky, burst, 
in one of those downright soaking rains that bid 
fair to penetrate even to the roots of the earth. 
This was accompanied by a breeze, so rough as to 
bend low the lighter trees, and to toss with some 
violence the branches of the more stable. Thus, 
while the rain freshened all that retained life, the 
wind separated what was dead, bearing it far 
away, and leaving the exhilarated scene to sparkle 
in its summer beauty. Who could look on this, 
and fail to apply the expressive acknowledgement 
— " Thou, O Lord, sentest a gracious rain upon 
thine inheritance, and refreshedst it when it was 
weary." 

I now can augur well for my carnations, plant- 
-ed rather unadvisedly, I confess, in that unshaded 
south border. Some will wonder that I should 
suffer them to droop for lack of moisture, while 
the simple contrivance of a watering-pot is within 
reach. But, though I do occasionally give the 
garden such artificial refreshments, I find that the 
hard spring water, which alone is at hand, aftbrds 
a very insufficient substitute for the distillations of 
the sky. This, too, is good for me — it teaches me 
to look up and to acknowledge my soul's continu- 



THE CARNATION. 93 

al dependance on that which man cannot supply. 
The garden of Eden was Adam's only Bible, and 
sweetly, no doubt, did he meditate upon the living 
page ; a book more precious meets our far deeper 
wants ; but the first volume, with all its sin- 
wrought blemishes, when interpreted by the se- 
cond, is a study that I would not forego for any 
work of human wisdom. 

I must not, however, lose sight of my carnations : 
they have reference to some reminiscences in 
which I must indulge. Not that the character 
which I connect with them, bears any resemblance 
to the flower ; but those delicate flowers grew in 
great profusion round the lowly cottage of old 
Dame C, and, as the sole, acknowledgment that 
poverty could make, I was invariably presented with 
the choicest of that elegant store, when I com- 
menced visiting her : until I come so to identify 
them, that, if I had been more than a day or two 
absent, the sight of a carnation would send me off", 
conscience-stricken, to my instructive post. 

Dame C. could find no gratification in the flower- 
garden : for twelve years she had been totally blind ; 
and when she had lain for full two years on a bed, 
where rheumatic affection of the limbs forbade her 
even the luxury of changing her position, without an 
effort quite agonizing to her crippled frame. I 
want to pourtray the family as I found them ; and 
shall endeavour so to do. 



04 THE CARNATION, 

A beloved friend, whose faithful labours in the 
ministry had shed the light of Goshen within 
many a detached cottage, where all besides was 
darkness — yea, darkness that might be felt— was 
removed from among us. At his departure, I was 
told of Dame C, as one who would surely feel 
the loss, and requested to look in upon her occasion- 
ally. It was not long before I visited the cottage ; 
and certainly a less attractive scene I could hardly 
have encountered. 

On entering the little kitchen, the first object 
that presented itself was the countenance of a boy, 
in the very lowest state of confirmed idiotcy ; his 
open mouth distorted into a wild laugh, and dis- 
figured by a frightful scar, occasioned by his fall- 
ing upon the wood fire. This deplorable being sat 
in a little chair ; his long mis-shapen legs and 
arms were alike powerless ; and altogether the 
first sight of him was enough to check my wish 
for further acquaintance with the cottagers. How- 
ever, I proceeded, and saw a very old man sitting 
near the fire ; while a middle-aged woman, of a 
very serious and even sad countenance, respectful- 
ly welcomed her visitor. 

' Is this your Httle boy V said T, trying to recon- 
cile myself to the spectacle. 

* No, madam, he is a friendless child,' cast by 
the Lord on such poor help as we can give him.' 

* Where is Dame C. V 



I'HE CARNATIOJ^. ^5 

* I will take you to her :' and then, with great 
tenderness lifting the boy in her arms, who at eight 
years old, had the length (not height, for he could 
not stand) of ten or twelve, she preceeded us into 
the adjoining room ; which was in so dilapidated 
a state that light penetrated the roof in many 
places, where the covering of turf had sunk in 
between the open rafters, presenting an aspect 
of great poverty, and accounting for the rheu- 
matic pains to which the inmate was' subject. 

The dame lay on her very humble but clean 
bed ; and again I shrunk back. Her face was 
drawn into innumerable wrinkles, its expression 
indicating great suffering, and something about the 
eyelids that gave a vague idea of the forcible ex- 
tinction of sight. She seemed a personification 
of misery, and there was a heavy vacant look that 
almost discouraged me from speaking to her. Still 
I strove against the repugnant feeling, and spoke 
gently and kindly, inquiring how she felt herself. 

' Very poorly, indeed, lady,.^ she answered, 
without any movement ; ' my poor bones ache so, 
that 1 can get no rest.^ 

* But your soul rests— does it not ? — in the love 
of the Lord Jesus.' 

' It does — 'blessed be my gracious Lord !' 
' Well, I am come, at the request of our dear 
Mr. H. and his sister to see you,' 

In a moment her hands were raised to grasp a 



96 THE CARNATION. 

cord that hung loosely across the head of her bed, 
and by means of which, with a forcible effort, she 
turned herself to the side where I sat, exclaiming, 
with a blaze of animation, * Oh, do tell me some- 
thing of them ! And did they send you to me V 

I told her much of those precious friends ; and 
then we talked of the Master whom they served : 
and then I read a portion of God's word, astonish- 
ed and instructed by the deep observations that 
she continually made. I found her, in fact, one 
of the most experimental Christians that I had 
ever met with; and before I left her, every object 
had become lovely in my sight : so manifestly did 
the glory of the Lord rest on all around me. 
Many an after hour did I pass, holding her poor 
withered hand in mine, while we discoursed upon 
the love of God in Christ ; and many a Christian 
friend, including ministers and missionaries, did I 
lake to learn of my blind old dame such heights, 
and depths, and breadths of that redeeming, enlight- 
ening, sanctifying love, as few of them had ever 
attained to. 

On my second visit, T took my dumb boy : he 
was deeply affected, and after gazing intently on 
her countenance whilst I read the scriptures to her, 
though not comprehending a word that passed, he 
said to me with tears in his eyes, * Poor blind 
woman loves Jesus Christ.' I then told her of 
his presence and his state ; and very lovely it was 



THE CARNATION. 97 

to see the trembling hand of the blind old saint 
pressed on »the head of the deaf and dumb youth, 
while she invoked the richest blessings of cove- 
nant grace on his path — already, and evidently 
tending to an early grave. 

One pecuhar characteristic marked that singular 
dwelling : it was the zeal of both mother and 
daughter for the soul of the idiot boy : his story 
was very touching. His mother, led astray and 
abandoned, had sought shelter there — had given 
him birth — and died with every appearance of 
liaving been led to Christ during her short but bit- 
ter trial. The only connexion of either parent 
who could do any thing for the babe, was asked 
where he should be sent : ' Toss him behind the 
fire !' was the savage reply ; and from that hour 
he was cherished in the poverty-stricken abode of 
faith and love ; receiving a most scanty dole from 
the parish towards his support, with a weekly 
threat of its withdrawal. ' And if they do,' said 
the dame's estimable daughter, ' we can but trust 
to the Lord, and go on. I am sure he has a soul, 
and at times I see little gleams of sense in him ; 
and I am sure that, poor sinful child of a sinful 
race though he be, the blood of Jesus Christ can 
save him too.' And then she clasped her arm 
round him, and earnestly talked to him of the love 
of Christ ; observing, ' How do I know but that 
he understands more than he can express !' 
9 



98 THE CARNATION. 

It will readily be believed that my heart became 
knit to this family ; and after my poor boy was 
confined to his home, I went continually to give 
and receive supphes of strengthening hope, in con- 
versing with Dame C. Never was gratitude so 
overpowering as that wherewith our Httle offices 
of kindness were received : never were spiritual 
things more abundantly reaped, in return for such 
poor services in carnal things. 

I was often deeply humbled to perceive in how 
fierce a furnace the Lord still kept what to man 
appeared gold fully refined. The dame's trials 
were dreadful. One part of her malady was the 
nightly, and often daily, appearance of the most 
horrible shapes and countenances, menacing and 
rushing at her, as if commissioned to tear her in 
pieces. Not being able to account for this, she 
naturally supposed them to be evil spirits ; and 
most heart-rending were her cries to the Lord, for 
help and defence against them. A medical friend 
explained to me the origin of those optical illu- 
sions ; and I was able to convince her that they 
sprang altogether from her disease. It was joyful 
news to her harassed mind : but in the beautiful 
simplicity of her faith she said, * When I thought 
them devils, I did not really fear them : it was sad 
to have devils for company, and they are very 
frightful too : but since neither angels, nor principal- 
ities, nor powers can separate me from the love of 



THE CARNATION. 99 

God in Christ Jesus my Lord, I felt that they could 
do me no harm.' 

The dame found out my love of flowers, and 
often charged her daughter to pick the best for me. 
The Kttle garden was as rich in them as tasteful 
industry could make it ; and, by careful cultivation, 
the family of pinks and carnations had overspread 
the borders in splendid profusion. I have no floral 
association more distinct, than that of these lovely 
specimens with the cottage of Dame C. 

When, after a period of most agonizing sufl'er- 
ing, my dumb boy underwent what the country 
people call the " change for death," about a week 
before his actual departure, I went to seek comfort 
from my dame, and was greeted with the tidings that 
a change exactly similar had passed on her. I could 
not then bear to see her ; but, five days after, I 
went and beheld her laid out, in the perfect sem- 
blance of death. No perception of any kind 
seemed to exist, her respiration only, now and then 
rising to a groan, indicated that life still lingered. 
* She will never speak nor move again,' said her 
daughter, ' thus she will breathe her last.' But 
she was mistaken ; another day and night passed 
by, and every moment appeared likely to be the 
final one. At seven o'clock in the morning of the 
ensuing day, to the amazement of her watchful 
nurse, the old woman lifted up her hands, and m 
a loud clear voice exclaimed, ' When you hear the 



100 THE CARNATION. 

bell toll for me, then rejoice — rejoice — rejoice ; for 
I shall be in glory.' The word ' rejoice' was each 
time accompanied with a clap of the hands — the 
word ' glory' was uttered in a tone of rapturous ex- 
ultation — and then the hands fell, and the soul was 
gone in a moment. 

Thus she entered into her joy of the Lord, at 
the age, as she used to say, of twenty-eight. ' For 
though it is eighty-six years since I came into the 
w^orld, you know I was dead till the voice came, 
" Awake ! thou that sleepest, arise from the dead, 
and Christ shall give thee light." Yes, I was dead 
in trespasses and sins, and I will only number my 
days from that whereon He quickened me.' 

I had anticipated much solace from discoursing 
with her of my dumb boy's state, when he should 
be taken away ; she died fourteen hours before 
him ; and he called her, playfully, ' Bad blind 
woman,' for not waiting for him. I stifled the 
selfish feeling of disappointment, and feasted on the 
assurance of their glorious meeting, when the eyes 
of the blind are indeed opened, and the ears 
of the deaf unstopped, and the tongue of the dumb 
makes melody in heaven. It is so realizing to 
witness the short and sprightly step wherewith 
some of God's children spring from time into eter- 
nity. The bursting of a bud into the sudden ex- 
pansion typifies it sweetly ; but I must not antici- 
pate the Evening Primrose. For this month it 



THE CARNATION. 101 

will suffice me to bend over the gracefully-droop- 
ing carnation, and send out my heart's warmest af- 
fections towards the poor of this world, rich in 
faith, whom God hath chosen to be heirs of his 
kingdom, in glory that shall never fade away. 



CHAPTER VIIL 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE 



' The pale primrose' of earl}^ spring iias found a 
laureate in the bard of every age, of every grade. 
Tlie vernal landscape pictured to our mind's eye, 
would be incomplete without it. Who can fancy a 
green bank, beginning to shoot forth its tender blade 
after shaking off the feathery tufts of snow, with- 
out including in the ideal sketch that delicate 
flower which rises on its slender stalk to grace the 
slant, and peer into the narrow channel beneath, as 
if watching the gradual withdrawal of winter's 
now liquified mantle ! 

But the primrose of spring has a younger sister 
appearing later in the year ; one who wears her tint, 
and borrows her name, and inherits her sweet hu- 
mility, though towering in stature far above the 
lowly prototype. The primrose of evening comes 
not forth to share in the general competition of 
her many tinted neighbours : she keeps her beau- 
tiful petals wrapped closely in their mantle through 
tlie day, nor unfolds them until other flowers have 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 103 

shrank from the dewy chill ; and then it is aston- 
ishing how rapidly the blossoms burst their cere- 
ments, expanding in quick succession, while we 
can scarcely persuade ourselves that the change 
before us is the work of half an hour. 

It was in the haunt of my childhood, the garden 
of my paternal home, that I learnt to love this 
primrose. My father had so great a predilection 
for it, that he scarcely allowed its progress to be 
checked, even when the increase threatened to 
overrun the parterre. I knew the reason of this — 
he had heard me say that I liked nothing so well 
as, after gazing on the brilliant colours of the 
western sky, to turn and look upon the cool sweet 
buds that awoke while all others were at rest. I 
scarcely dare to call up the images connected with 
that period of my life : intentionally I never do so, 
because the scenery on which one ray of gospel 
light never broke, will not endure the retrospective 
gaze, without inflicting a pang most trying to poor 
rebellious nature. Yet that their memory lives in 
the deep recesses of my heart, I am made to feel, 
whenever I look upon the plant : and that, with all 
its sorrowful combinations, the theme is most dear 
to me, I know by the thrill of secret delight that 
welcomes its appearance, far beyond that of every 
bright flower around it. 

Not long ago, I was trying to trace to its first 
origin the character of deep sympathy, wherewith 



104 THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

I am conscious of having invested this particular 
flower, from my very childhood. To me, the eve- 
ning primrose does not so much represent an indi- 
vidual, as a sentiment ; but this assuredly took its 
rise from its association with my father's image, 
who, in all that concerned me, presented the most 
complete personification of delicate sympathy that 
I have ever witnessed among men. This was the 
more remarkable, as his mind was particularly 
masculine, his every taste and pursuit far removed 
from what was frivolous or idle. Yet was his 
soaring intellect perpetually bowed, his mighty 
faculties continually brought down, to reach the 
level of a weak and wayward child, so as to render 
his companionship the main ingredient of my hap- 
piness ; while others, far my superiors in age and 
understanding, stood aloof, and wondered at my 
delighting in what they regarded with no little awe. 
Certain I am, that at no period of my life have I 
met, in any human being, with a sympathy so full, 
so tender, so unfailing, as that of him who left me 
early to buffet with the storms of life ; and the 
evening primrose always is, always will be, a me- 
mento of what I shall no more enjoy on earth. 

The flower too, is an apt emblem of what I would 
describe. It comes, when the fellowship of many 
sunshiny friends is withdrawn. The gayest have 
disappeared from my garden before it is ripe for 
blossoming ; and those of its contemporaries who 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 105 

smile on me through the day, will close the eye, 
and avert the head, at the cool hour when I am 
tempted forth to muse among them. A feeling of 
desertion steals on my spirit, when I look around 
upon the folded petals, that laughed back my noon- 
tide greeting; and then, as if partaking in my 
thought, the delicate buds of the evening primrose 
throw wide their silken leaves with a haste that 
seems to bespeak no shght impulse of benevolent 
sympathy. The lapse of every year gives addition- 
al emphasis of meaning in this contemplation : for 
each returning summer bears witness to some ad- 
ditional bereavment, while companions long-loved 
have gone down into the grave, or faces that beamed 
lovingly on me have become averted in coldness, 
or estranged by protracted absence. The flower is 
then a precious remembrancer to tell mc of one 
who changes not — whose unseen hand upheld my 
unsteady steps when gambolling in infancy among 
the blossoms — guided me through the mazes of a 
perplexing pilgrimage — and is still upon me for 
good, with the cheering promise, " I will never 
leave thee, nor forsake thee." The sudden burst- 
ing of a bud of the evening primrose has power to 
recall my thoughts, in the moment of inconsider- 
ate levit^r, with an influence most subduing ; and 
when despondency or discontent pervade the spirit, 
that little incident will sooth and cheer me, like tlie 
words of a tender and sympathizing friend. 



106 THE EVENING PRIMROS 

How wonderful is the influence that sympathy 
can exercise over some minds ! And yet it is dif- 
ficult to define its precise character ; for it may 
exist unseen, where a cold exterior veils its opera- 
tions ; or it may be so counterfeited as to delude us 
into a belief of its abiding, where, in reality, it 
was never known. Besides, different ideas are at- 
tached to the word, according to the feelings of in- 
dividuals ; and when men will call that sympathy, 
which merely conforms itself to their prevailing 
humours, taking care not to cross the grain of their 
inclinations, however wrong or dangerous they may 
be. An invalid may have a particidar liking for 
something expressly forbidden by the physician : 
and then he is the sympathizing friend, who will 
smuggle the prohibited delicacy to the sick patient, 
or overrule the opposition of more conscientious 
advisers. Again, a Christian may be — and alas ! 
there are few who are not — under the influence of 
some besetting sin, which he conceives to be mere- 
ly a harmless characteristic of his natural disposi- 
tion, while to all others, it may evidently appear 
most unlovely — unseemly — and inconsistent with 
his profession. To him, that friend will seem the 
most sweetly sympathizing, who affects not to per- 
ceive, or helps him to frame excuses for, the reign- 
ing corruption. But that in either of these cases, 
the seeming kindness is real cruelty, we need not 
to be told. True Christian sympathy places its 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 107 

soul in the soul's stead, with which it has to deal, 
and proceeds as, in such a case, it would desire to 
be dealt with ; constantly keeping in view the mo- 
mentous interests of eternity. At the same time, 
it will infuse all imaginable tenderness into the 
faithful dealing which conscience dictates; and 
herein is its peculiar character most brightly devel- 
oped, that it will stoop to the weakness of the most 
feeble-minded ; studying the very prejudices of its 
object, in order to avoid any needless infliction. 

There are some minds so constituted, that they 
appear, intuitively, to fall into the very circum- 
stances of those with whom they have to do; inso- 
much that the pain or embarrassment of another 
will affect them as personal troubles : — the gratifi- 
cations of others yield them a positive pleasure. 
Of this sensitive class was Cowper, whose univer- 
sal tenderness of feeling took into its grasp the very 
brute creation. And if such characters were nu- 
merous among men, we should find the world very 
different from what we now experience it to be. 
Sweet and refreshing it is, to meet with individu- 
als so constituted : and where divine grace has 
given a higher impulse and a nobler aim to their 
benevolence — when, not merely the temporal, but 
also the spiritual benefit of iheir fellow creatures 
becomes an object of their deep concerns — they 
are as palm-trees in the desert of our pilgrimage, 



108 THE EVENING PRIMROSEe 

extending alike to every weary traveller the sha- 
dow so welcome. 

This habit of placing ourselves in the situation 
of another, will also be found to prevail wherever 
a strong individual attachment subsists. Warm 
affection ivill seek the happiness of its object, and 
that is only to be done by studying the disposition 
of the person beloved^ with a steady self-devotion 
— a co-partnership in every joy and sorrow — a 
moulding of our own will and habits to those of the 
cherished object. Here, again, is sympathy ; and 
to this manifestation of it I can bear witness, and 
remember how my every taste and inclination were 
watched, that they might be gratified ; how light 
was every sacrifice accounted, that a fond father 
could make to promote the welfare of an afflicted 
child. The sacredness of the tie, the immensity 
of the obligation, the total removal of him who con- 
ferred it out of the reach of all grateful return, and 
and the cheering brightness that seems to hang 
over the remote retrospection of those by-gone 
years — all tend to melt my spirit into sad, yet 
soothing emotion, when I behold the flower on 
which is engraven the record of indulged childhood 
— of sympathy more perfect than I can ever again 
look for upon earth. 

There is yet another demonstration of this be- 
nevolence, which we are warranted to expect among 
all who bear the name of Christ ; and this is ex- 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE. 109 

pressed by the injunction, " Bear ye one another's 
burdens." Without possessing the exquisite tender- 
ness of the class first alluded to, without entertain- 
ing any especial degree of partiality for the individ- 
ual, we are imperatively called upon to make both 
allowances and sacrifices, for the sake of those 
around us. Good breeding ensures this, among 
people who are held together by the bonds of civil 
society ; but something more must interpose to in- 
duce its continuance, where intimacy has removed 
many restraints. It is not to be computed how 
much of domestic and social happiness is lost, by 
neglecting to cultivate this branch of Christian duty. 
It is lovely to see the strong bearing the infirmities 
of the weak, and descending to trifles, beneath the 
level of their more powerful minds, in order to 
avoid too rough a collision with spirits rendered 
over-sensitive by afflictions, by sickness, or b}^ 
natural temperancient. Nor is forbearance to be 
confined to the more energetic party : the weak are 
bound to remember that others, differently consti- 
tuted, cannot so enter into all the minutiae of their 
feelings, as to escape every appearance of insensi- 
bihty to their complaints. Still, if the gospel rule 
be followed, in prayerful solicitude to possess and 
to manifest the mind which was in Christ Jesus, 
many a cup, now of almost unmingled bitterness 
as respects this world, may be sweetly ameliorated 
by the hand of forbearing kindness ; while gleams 
10 



110 HE EVENING PRIMROSE. 

of gladness are rendered brighter, by the smiling 
participation of those who are taught of God to re- 
joice with them that do rejoice. 

I think the whole bible does not afford us so af- 
fecting a lesson as that contained in two words in 
St. John's gospel—" Jesus ivept.^'^ It is not merely 
the act of his weeping, but the occasion, that pre- 
sents so exquisite an instance of the sympathy dear 
to afflicted man. Our Lord was on the point of 
turning the grief of his friends into unbounded joy, 
and very few among us, with such anticipation close 
at hand, would be able to find a tear for the mourn- 
ers — our minds would be too much occupied with 
their approaching, and most overwhelming delight. 
But the holy Jesus, touched with a feeling of all 
our infirmities, looked on the present anguish, and 
wept with the heart-broken sisters. Oh ! how un- 
like that cold, unsympathizing spirit, that seeks to 
force on the writhing sufferer its own superficial view 
of the passing calamity ; that chides the gushing 
tear, and preaches a lesson of indifference to a 
mind stretched on the rack of torture ! Yet this 
is often done, with the best and kindest intention, 
through forgetfulness of the great and precious ex- 
ample of Him who could not err ! I have expe- 
rienced this injudicious treatment, when every feel- 
ing of my heart was lacerated and torn, by a loss 
no less bitter— far more sudden and terrible than 
that of Martha and Mary. I have then been told, 



THE EVENING PRIMROSE 111 

that what was past could not be recalled, and there- 
fore I must not allow my mind to dwell upon it. 
Miserable comfort it was, and utterly hateful to 
my soul : but I turned to the sacred volume, and 
in those two words, '* Jesus vje^t^ I read the cha- 
racter of one to whom I could bring my sorrows, 
who would suffer me to weep before him, and for- 
give the reproachful thought, that said " Lord, if 
thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." 

And how beautifully does the bud of my gentle 
Evening Primrose typify the change that passes 
on the children of God, when he summons them 
to burst the fetters of flesh ! It is true that, when 
the spirit enters into glory, it disappears altogether 
from our ken, while the glory of the flower is to 
expand and shine before us. Still the rapidity, the 
beauty of the transition, occurring too, as it does, 
at the quiet, solemn hour of closing eve, will force 
upon the mind a resemblance very sweet to con- 
template, and gives, at least to me, the idea of hap- 
py spirits silently encompassing my path, while I 
meditate on the endearing theme. I sometimes 
gather the buds, and watch their expansion in my 
hand, delighting almost as a mother does in the un- 
closing eye of her slumbering babe. The petals 
of this flower are very beautiful, and wear a char- 
acter of refreshing coolness, and durability too, 
when they open to the pleasant breeze of evening 
but all is frail and transitory, destined to endure no 



112 THE EVENING PRIMROSE 

longer than while the sun is absent from onr hem- 
isphere. Vanity is written upon all that fixes its 
root in this perishing earth ; and man, especially, 
walkelh in a vain shadow, disquieting himself in 
vain. The best, the dearest, the holiest of our 
privileges, as regards our fellow-beings, hang but 
upon a breath ; and that perhaps the breath of Sa- 
tan, or of most evil-minded men, permitted by Him 
who suffered the inmates of Bethany to drink the 
bitter cup of bereavement, in tears and anguish 
of soul : but only that he might, after exercising 
their faiih and submission, prove the omnipotence 
of his arm to wrest back the prey, and confounded 
the opposers of his sovereignty, and shame the 
doubters of his everlasting love. Against his faith- 
ful servants, the hand of violence and wrong can 
do nothing, but pave the way for brighter manifes- 
tations of his glory ; he whom Jesus loves may be 
sick — he whom Jesus loves may be persecuted — 
but his prospect is sure ; and, however foes may 
triumph for a season, he shall yet be more than 
conqueror, through Him who has so loved him. 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE VINE. 



After a long struggle against the prevailing incli- 
nation, I have resolved to gratify it, even at the 
hazard of being brought in guilty of a flagrant de- 
parture from the verity of my title. Fruit does not 
legitimately come under the head of flowers ; — 
true, but flowers that herald not some species of 
fruit are comparatively of little worth. In short, 
I would rather, for once, plead guilty to the charge 
of inconsistency, than deprive myself of the de- 
light with which I constantly dwell on an image so 
nationally precious, that the reader who falls out 
with me for bringing it before her, must seek her 
place beyond the circle of, at least, English Chris- 
tian ladies. 

The Vine, the fruitful vine, that spreads its luxu- 
riant foliage, and throws out its wiry tendrils, and 
hangs forth its clusters to the mellowing sunbeams, 
will not be passed by, at this season of sweet recol- 
lections. It brings before me in the most vivid por- 
10* 



114 THE VINE. 

traiture, a scene never to be forgotten ; nor ever to be 
recalled without a glow of heart, which, to be sure, 
I cannot hope to communicate to my readers ; 
though most of them will be able to conceive how 
little peril I am in of overstating the matter, when 
they have the particulars, which I will faithfully 
relate. 

It was on a very bright and gladsome morning 
that I set out, accompanied by my own, my pre- 
cious brother, and his little girl, and my dumb boy, 
on an excursion fraught with very delightful anti- 
cipations. We reached the, end of our journey, 
and were ushered into a room well furnished with 
books, adorned with tasteful prints, and wearing 
the aspect, yea, breathing the very soul of elegant 
retirement, hallowed into something far beyond the 
reach of this world's elegancies. At the further 
end of the apartment was a recess, almost of suf- 
ficient size to be called an additional room, thrown 
boldly forward beyond the line of the building, 
and forming in four compartments, one large semi- 
circular window, scarcely a pane of which was 
unadorned by some stray leaf or tendril of the vine 
that rested its swelling bunches in profusion against 
the glass. Beyond, the eye might find much of 
sylvan beauty whereon to rest : but to me, no at- 
traction lay beyond it ; for, in the light and cheer- 
tul little sanctuary, there sat a lady, whose snow- 
white locks — " a crown of glory" — shaded, or 



THE VINE. 115 

rather brightened, a countenance so beanaing with 
love, that the sentin:ient of reverential humihty vv^as 
at once absorbed in that of endeared fellowship 
with one who evidently sought no homage, nor 
claimed superiority over the lowliest of her Sa- 
viour's followers 

That lady was Hannah More. 

My heart often melts within me, at the recollec- 
tion of the tenderness that marked her first greet- 
ing. There was that in my own circumstances, 
which could not fail to engage her sympathizing 
compassion ; there was that, in the case of my 
companions, which powerfully awakened her most 
serious interests. 1 had long shared the benevo- 
lence of her love, long reaped the benefit of her 
devout prayers, and received many a message of 
affectionate solicitude, during a preceding period of 
no common tribulation. She saw me then, rejoic- 
ing in the presence of a long-lost friend, yet filled 
with keenest anxiety for his spiritual welftire. I 
can readily believe that the occasion called forth 
into conspicuous display the loveliest features of 
her beautiful character; and, assuredly, I never 
have beheld a countenance so expressive of all 
that can sweeten mortality. 

How quick, how perfect is the communion of 
spirit between those who, having often met at the 
throne of grace, w^hile yet far absent in body, are 
at length brought eye to eye, beholding one ano- 



116 THE VINE. 

ther's face in the flesh, which heretofore had been 
but dimly pourtrayed by uncertain imaginations ! 
Our converse vv^as unavoidably restrained, by the 
presence of those whose absence neither of us 
could have desired : but every time that her sweet, 
quiet, yet animated eye met mine, it told me that 
she read my thoughts, that her soul ascended in 
prayer for the attainment of* that which mine so 
fervently longed after : and it spoke, in the smiling 
encouragement of her cheerful aspect, "fear not : 
only believe, and thou shalt see the glory of God." 
It was, to me, a clear token for good, that her 
very heart seemed drawn out towards my brother, 
who having long sojourned in a land of gross dark- 
ness — such as might be felt — had recently return- 
ed, not only ignorant of the truth as it is in Jesus, 
but impressed with the most absurd prejudices 
against those whose spiritual earnestness he had 
been taught to consider as paroxysms of fanatical 
derangement. He had never been brought into 
contact with an open professor of serious religion, 
and very terrible to his joyous spirit was the 
phantom of melancholy moroseness conjured up 
by the enemy of his soul, to deter him from enter- 
ing into such society. His love for me, the de- 
light that he had ,ever found in promoting my 
gratification, impelled him to venture into what he 
expected to find the counterpart of La Trappe. 
This he had expressed to me on the road, remark- 



THE VINE. 117 

ing that he had no great fancy for visiting " the 
queen of the Methodists ;" and a lurking expres- 
sion of suspicious dishke clouded his bright coun- 
tenance, until he had taken a deliberate view of 
his new acquaintance ; who, being on her part 
fully aware of his prejudices, was peculiarjy so- 
licitous to remove them. 

It was no difficult task ; for the Lord had willed 
it; and oh how sweet it was to me, who could 
read every turn of those expressive features, to 
see the mist rolling away, and the brightest sun- 
shine of delight overspreading them, as he listened 
to her interesting converse, and repaid her judici- 
ous inquiries with a mass of valuable information, 
on the topics most engaging to a soldier just return- 
ed from the scene of his victories. The usual 
period allowed to visitors passed too fleetly, and 
he appeared no less gratified than I was, when 
she told us that after taking gome refreshment, and 
strolling through the grounds, we must again re- 
turn to her alcove, and renew our conversation. 

During this interview. Jack, the dumb boy, had 
been standing behind a chair, his eyes roving with 
strange delight from one to the other, fully com- 
prehending the character of each, and bestowing 
on me many significant nods, accompanied with 

the words, " Beautiful loves Hannah More : 

Good Hannah More loves beautiful ," while 

he and the wonderful manifestation of divine grace 



118 THE VINE. 

in his soul, furnished her with many appropriate 
remarks, calculated to awaken my dear brother's 
interest on subjects quite new to him. 

Sweet shades of Barley Wood ! hov/ lovely they 
looked to my gladdened eye, as we strolled among 
them — how delicious to my soul were the remarks 
made by my companion on their blessed owner — 
and with what pleasure did I observe the mutual 
cordiality of their greeting, when he again seated 
himself opposite to her, leaning over her little table, 
and perusing the venerable countenance which 
really shone with maternal love towards him. I 
would record it among the many instances of her 
Christian spirit, that she endured, even to serious 
inconvenience, the fatigue of a most^ prolonged in- 
terview, for the sake of following up a manifest ad- 
vantage with one in whose sight the Lord had given 
her unlooked-for favour ; and I trust that is en- 
rolled among her abundant labours in her Master's 
cause. 

But the vine ? Well, I was seated just oppo- 
site the window, and counted as grapes of Eschol, 
the clusters before me ; for I thought that my bro- 
ther was now obtaining a glimpse of the product of 
that good land, concerning which unfaithful spies 
had brought him an evil report. Neither did I 
overlook the typical fitness of the plant to grace 
Hannah More's favourite corner ; for truly she, 
among woman was as that vine among the shrubs 



THE VINE. 119 

of her garden. Who has not attached the distinc- 
tion of exquisite gracefulness, combined with noble 
simplicity, to the vine ? Who has not acknow- 
ledged its beauty, its full, overspreading growth, its 
rich abundance of delicious fruit ? Painters will 
tell us, that, to study the perfection of form, colour, 
light and shade, united in one object, we must place 
before us a bunch of grapes. Scripture refers us 
to their juice, as '' wine that maketh glad the heart 
of man," selecting it also as an emblem of that 
choice blessing, a loving, faithful wife. Now, in 
Hannah More's renewed and ripened character, 
those who know her best will be the most easer to 
assert that all these qualities were clearly percep- 
tible,; to me, who had not much personal inter- 
course with her, the trait of grateful simplicity, 
evidently emanating from an humble, peaceful 
mind, shone paramount, as it does in the beautiful 
tree. There was an exquisite modesty, deprecat- 
ing in every look the homage that all were prepared 
to render. There was something that shrunk from 
admiration, while it courted the love, I could al- 
most say the countenance and encouragement, of 
those who could only have thought of raising her to 
the eye of reverential observance. Yet, amid all 
this humbleness of mind, that asked a prop from 
what, in comparison, was but a bundle of dry sticks, 
rich clusters were perpetually looking out — thoughts 
that drew their being from the sap of the True 



120 THE VINE. 

Vine, clothed in the fairest diction, arranged with 
tasteful skill, and touched with the peculiar grace 
of originality : while the unction that cometh from 
above, rested with freshening effect upon this fruit 
of the hps of a true mother in Israel. 

We are, alas ! such selfish creatures, that I have 
often questioned whether Hannah More would have 
left such a delightful impression on my mind, had 
I seen her under circumstances less endearing to 
my own fond heart, than those narrated above. 
So very precious her remembrance would not be ; 
but that she was altogether equally engaging as 
valuable, I had the testimony of my brother, whose 
previous expectations had been extremely unfavour- 
able. He remarked in his usual playful manner, 
referring to the title that he had given her, ' The 
methodists cannot be like their queen : they are 
poor melancholy souls, but she is the nicest, liveliest, 
sweetest old lady I have ever met with.' I well 
remember that, on our return to the study, on hear- 
ing us expatiate on the beauties of her luxurious 
plantation, she told us she had put down every tree 
and shrub with her own hand ; neglecting for that 
employment, the more important one to which the 
Lord had called her : adding that she had been se- 
verely rebuked for it, by being long disabled in the 
right hand. ' This evil hand,* she said, slapping it 
with the other, ' whicli left its Master's work so 
long undone ! Well might he have caused it, like 



THE VINE. 121 

Jeroboam's to wither and be dried up ; but after a 
season he mercifully restored it.' 

One of the last efforts of my dumb boy, with his 
pencil, was to complete a copy that he had commen- 
ced from a print of Barley Wood. He left it after 
all, unfinished ; but the window is distinctly pour- 
trayed : and the distant church, where now repose 
the mortal remains of Hannah More. She lived 
to shed many a tear for me, when the sudden stroke 
that removed my brother made every preceding 
trial appear as nothing ; and she lived to render 
praise for the slow yet glorious translation of the 
dumb boy into the eternity after which he panted. 
He retained the fondest recollection of her ; and, 
when dying, requested m^e to fix a little sketch of 
her likeness where he could constantly behold it — 
saying in his broken language, ' Jack die young : 
good Hannah More very old, soon come to Jesus 
Christ in heaven.' Yes I trust indeed that they 
were all branches, living branches of the True 
Vine. In one of them the father was glorified, by 
her bearing much fruit, through a long succession 
of plentiful years : another, according to his shorter 
season, yielded many a cluster, precious in the sight 
of the great Husbandman, who willed his early 
transplantation into a better soil: and the third — 
oh, he was taken from the wild vine, and grafted 
into the tree, and had received of its fulness, and 
began to put forth the delicate bud of promise — 
11 



122 THE VINE. 

the blossom of hope that maketh not ashamed. 
What could we do without that blessed assurance 
that it is the Father's good pleasure to give the king- 
dom to all his little flock ? The lamb, so newly 
dropt that it cannot yet find a firm footing, but tot- 
ters and sinks before the lightest breeze- — the lamb 
is, notwithstanding, of the flock. Once born of 
God the soul never dies; once admitted into his 
family, it is no more cast out. Weak faith is ever 
staggering at the promise, and asking for evidences 
which the nature of the case puts beyond our reach : 
it cannot trace this simple analogy between things 
natural and things spiritual. It is content, as 
regards the veterans of the fold : but the little 
new-born lambs, how could they tread the difficult 
path to heaven ? Why, they could not tread it at 
all — and what then ? The Shepherd gathered 
them in his arms, and carried them in his bosom, 
and they reached it no less surely, safely, speedi 
ly, than the sturdy ancients who travelled onward 
in matured strength. Verily, our unbelief strips 
God of half his glory, to put it on the creature. 

It is a hard saying for human pride to hear, that 
the babe which gives one gasp and dies, enters 
heaven under as exceeding and eternal a weight of 
glory, as the matured, the tempted, the victorious 
Christian. But if it be of grace, and not of works, 
such is the undeniable inference. We are con 
strained to believe ; but how hard to apply it ! 



TitE VINE. 123 

The infant martyrs of Bethlehem, who laughed 
with unconscioUvS glee at the glittering of murder- 
ous blades, just poised to impale them — wherein is 
their crown less bright than that of our confessors, 
who voluntarily mounted the pile, and fixed the 
chain, and welcomed the torturing fires of popish 
persecution? There is, surely, no difference in 
the recompence of Christ's sufferings, bestowed 
alike on each : but very sweet, and surpassingly 
dear, must be the retrospection of those who had 
forsaken all to follow him, after counting the cost, 
and fully comprehending what lay before them. 
The act of renewing a sinful nature, must needs 
furnish a song of praise for eternity : a long cata- 
logue of wilful transgressions, also blotted out by 
the blood of the cross, may well raise the tone of 
exstacy much higher. But it will be as with the 
manna in the wilderness, where he who gathered 
little did not lack, and he who gathered much had 
nothing over. This is never the case with aught 
of man's providing ; but when God furnishes the 
table, it cannot be otherwise. 

When the eye rests upon the pleasant green 
foliage of a favourite tree, how smoothly can the 
billows of thought roll on, in the untroubled mind, 
each insensibly disappearing before its successor. 
To dream away life, would accord with most dis- 
positions ; and to ponder on the works of others, 
often appears somewhat of a meritorious work in 



124 THE VINE. 

ourselves. I find this snare in my garden, loving 
better to trace characters in flowers, than to bestir 
myself to the needful operation of uprooting weeds. 
May the Lord, who has given me many sweet and 
soothing thoughts, while contemplating the vine 
that his bounty has enriched with precious clus- 
ters, cause the warning word to sink deep into my 
heart, which declares, " every branch in me that 
beareth not fruit, he taketh away I" 



CHAPTER X. 



THE HEART S-EASE. 



When viewed upon a grand scale, and from a 
commanding station, how beautiful are the tints of 
Autumn ! We look abroad, over hill and plain, 
interspread with grove and shrubbery, and the 
hedge-row that forms so remarkable a characteris- 
tic in our national scenery, and endless appears 
the diversity of rich and mellow tint, which by its 
loveliness half reconciles us to the legible symp- 
tom of speedy desolation. He who has willed 
the frequent changes that bereave us of our choic- 
est possessions, has not failed to soften that 
bereavement with many tender touches of a hand 
that loves to pour balm into every wound it sees 
needful to make. Even in the material world, we 
trace the workings of this divine compassion ; and 
while shrinking from that dreary winter of which 
they are the infallible precursors, we still are com- 
pelled to greet the dying hues of autumn as among 
the most welcome spectacles that can gratify the 
eye of taste. 

11* 



1 26 THE 

Yet it is when we are somewhat removed, and 
able to take a general view of the landscape, that 
such loveliness is rightly appreciated. Walking 
under the shade of our own withering bovvers, 
where the damp, fallen leaves impede our path, 
and mar the lingering beauty of our borders, it is 
by no means so pleasant. The visitation touches 
us too nearly, our individual comforts are too 
closely trenched upon ; and gladly would we bar- 
gain that, after going forth to look upon the beaut}^ 
of neighbouring plantations in their progress to- 
wards utter decay, we might return to our especial 
garden, finding it exempt from the universal doom ; 
as thickly clustering with green leaves as when 
summer first put on her finished livery. 

I have thought of this, as illustrating in some 
degree my feeUng, when I meet with narratives of 
interesting characters, whose passage from mortal 
to immortal life is arrayed in new glories, like the 
fading woods of autumn. I gaze, and admire, and 
rejoice, on behalf of the privileged saints, whose 
hour of approaching departure is the loveliest pe- 
riod of their visible sojourn here : but when it is 
upon mine own familiar friend that the visitation 
comes — when the tree that shelters me is to be 
stripped, when the verdure that gladdens my re- 
treat is to fade away, — how different are the 
feelings excited ! To the eye of a more remote 
spectator, the withering of my bowers may form, 



THE heart's-ease. 127 

perchance, the most beautiful spot in a widely 
varigated landscape : to me it is a source of com- 
fortless repining, excepting only as faith looks 
confidently onward to the outbursting of a future, 
and a brighter vegetation. 

By daily care, the fallen honours of the nut, 
the lilac, the ash, and the acacia, are removed 
from my sheltered border, where still the dear 
little heart's-ease, now revived by autumnal 
damps, retains its smiling aspect. During a 
droughty summer, the flowers lost much of their 
beauty, diminishing in size, and changing their 
colours for shades less bright ; but now they stand 
arrayed as gorgeously as ever, telling again the 
familiar tale of him who, in far brighter apparel, 
is adorning the bowers of heaven. It was always 
my purpose to return to this subject ; but I reserv- 
ed it until my garden should begin to look sad ; 
because in the retrospection of what God shewed 
me, while privileged to contemplate the character 
of D. I find a cordial for fainting hours. 

I have frequently wished to classify the beauti- 
ful features of that gifted mind ; but T could never 
succeed in it. Like my border of heart's-ease, it 
was full of variety ; and perfect, harmonious order 
reigned throughout the abundant distribution : but 
so many excellencies shone forth at once upon the 
view, that it was hardly possible to take them in 
succession, to confine the gaze to a single tint, or a 



128 THE heart's-ease. 

single combination of tints ; unless when, in the 
actual scene of some passing day, circumstances 
called forth a separate, a peculiar manifestation of 
the grace most needed at the time. It was as 
when I cull one flower from the many, and bear 
it away, to ponder on its individual beauties. 

I have spoken of gifts : now one remarkable trait 
in D. was the tenacity with which he clung to the 
principle, that all in him not hateful and repulsive, 
was a special gift, purchased by the blood of the 
cross. The usual close of his letters ran in these 
words, ' yours, by the grace of God, most affection- 
ately.' I once asked him why he used this expres- 
sion ; his answer was, *' Because, by nature, I am 
so vilely selfish, that sovereign grace alone can 
implant in my spirit one right impulse of disinter- 
ested affection. " Hateful, and hating one anoth- 
er," is the description of such as me : and I could 
not honestly love you, if the constraining love of 
Christ did not compel me to it.' Many can use 
such depreciating language concerning themselves, 
and, doubtless, many do so with sincerity : but there 
was a sorrowful earnestness in his remarks on the 
inward depravity, that always left me without 
power to reply. 

On one occasion, when several of us were assem- 
bled, the conversation turned on passing events, 
scenes, and persons. D. bore his part in it with 
his accustomed sprightliness ; but presently leaned 



THE heart's-ease. 129 

back in his chair with a look of pained abstraction. 
I addressed him, and his reply was, ' These are all 
material things, they engross our thoughts, and de- 
vour our time. Shall we never rise above sensi- 
ble objects ? I often strive to do so, but I am 
pulled back, and fettered down, by the mass of 
matter. I am oppressed by it : why do you not 
help me to throw off the weight ? why is not our 
conversation more in heaven V This was spoken 
with a feeling that approached irritation ; bat he 
followed it up immediately, by sweetly leading the 
way in an interesting inquiry into what he used to 
call the progress of prayer. I could not but think 
of the expression " we that are in this tabernacle 
do groan, being burdened" — and when, just three 
months after, I saw him reposing in his coffin, i-n 
that very room, how sweet was the recollection of 
his secret groaning after what he now so fully en- 
joys, clothed upon with his ■ house from heaven : 
and his mortality swallowed up in life ! 

About that time, he made a remark that im- 
pressed me deeply, and, I hope, abidingly. We 
attended the ministry of his beloved friend H., and 
on one occasion, adverting to certain criticisms that 
had been passed on his discourses by some who 
seemed to sit in judgment on their teacher, I asked 
him, ' How is it, that while they call one of his ser- 
mons fine, and another dry, and so forth, I find 
them all so profitable, and always come away well 



130 THE HEART's-EASE. 

fed ?' With animated quickness he rephed, ' 111 
tell you how it is : you pray for him.' ' Indeed I 
do : and that he may be taught to teach me.' ' Aye, 
there it is : and your prayer is answered. Now 
mark me ; the preacher and the flock either feed 
or starve one another : what they withhold from 
him in prayers, they lose in doctrine. Those who 
merely listen to cavil, or to admire, come away 
empty of spiritual food. Those who give liberally 
to their minister in secret prayer for him, have their 
souls made fat by the very same doctrine that falls 
unblest upon others.' He added, with emotion, 
* Bear dear H. more and more upon your heart be- 
fore your father's throne, and you will feast more 
largely upon the banquet that he spreads.' I have 
to be thankful that my friend's counsel was not lost 
on me : from that shepherd, indeed, I was soon 
removed ; and very soon he followed D. to glory : 
but I had already carried the lesson into another 
pasture ; where, richly and abundantly as all were 
fed, mine always appeared a Benjamin's mess ; for 
I had learned the secret of the profitable barter 
which I would commend to every christian hearer : 
instant, affectionate, individual intercession for the 
teacher, in the spirit of faith : then may we sit, 
contented, and humbly confident to receive the as- 
sured answer, in the portion which he is commis- 
sioned to divide. 

It was the delight of D. by every means, to 



131 



draw closer the bond of union between the pastor 
and his flock : and that was a blessed work. Woe 
to the hand that wantonly severs them ! It is the 
Lord's prerogative to visit a people by removing 
their most gifted teachers into a corner, even as it 
was also his to render the scattering of his church, 
by means of fiery persecutions, available for the 
spread of sound doctrine through Phenice, and 
Cyprus, and Antioch ; but not the less sacrilegious 
is the blow" that snaps asunder a tie which the 
Lord hath blessed ; and I was left to appreciate 
the full beauty of that feature in D.'s spiritual cha- 
racter, long after he was taken from mortal view : 
•as the balmy warmth of life-breathing Spring, is 
doubly endeared to our remembrance when we 
shiver before the rough blasts of a surly, devas- 
tating November. 

Well ! the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth, and 
man cannot dethrone him ! He worketh all things 
after the counsel of his will, and man cannot thwart 
his purposes. Nay, when most thoroughly set to 
do mischief, man is but blindly forwarding the 
work of eternal love and truth, even towards those 
whose welfare is the farthest from his wish. My 
little heart's-ease tells me this, in its own quiet lan- 
guage, as it looks up from under the heap of un- 
sightly leaves that, by faUing thickly upon it, have 
sheltered it from the evening frost, and left it 
sparkling with salubrious moisture, when I take 



132 THE HEAHT'S-EASE. 

them away and give entrance to the sunbeams. 
Often, very often, has D. expatiated on the same 
svireet truth, representing the many v^^ays in which 
my abounding trials were working together for good, 
already perceptible. I remember the lesson, and 
cherish it in my heart ; but sorely do I miss the 
cheerful look, the encouraging smile, that were 
wont to accompany it. D. was utterly incapable 
of that cheap generosity which bestows on the 
sufferer a scrap of advice, perchance a text of 
scripture, and thinks it has done the part of a 
Christian comforter. He first placed himself so 
fully in the situation of the person afflicted, by the 
exercise of that beautiful consideration wherewith 
God had gifted him ; and made so many allowances 
for the peculiarity of individual feeling and circum- 
stances, that his language assumed rather the cha- 
racter of consoling thoughts, inwardly suggested 
to the mourner, than of another man's ideas, ver- 
bally communicated. Surely if there be one gift 
more to be coveted than another, in the social in- 
tercourse of poor pilgrims through a valley of Baca, 
it is this. It is easy to lecture a complaining 
brother : it is easy to shew him how lightly you 
regard his present affliction ; and thus to silence 
the rising murmer, bidding it retire and rankle in 
the heart v/hich knoAveth its own bitterness ; but 
oh, how wise, how tender, how Christ-like, is the 
love that voluntarily places itself under his cross, 



133 



poises its weight and speaks the language not of 
one who nnerely sees, but of one who has felt it ! 

To rejoice with them that did rejoice, was a duty- 
rendered easy indeed, by the extraordinary cheer- 
fulness of D's. mind. Looks, words, gestures, 
were all put in requisition to express the delight 
of his soul, when he saw his companions happy. 
So joyous was the spirit of his religion, that it 
grieved him to witness a sombre cast on the coun- 
tenances of those engaged in devotional exercises, 
Calm, subdued, collected, and intent, he always 
appeared at such times, but never, to use his own 
expression, ' pulled a long face,' for the worship of 
God. Approaching a reconciled Father through 
Christ Jesus, he could not conceive why the de- 
light that animates the heart, and beams in the 
looks of an affectionate, grateful child, should be 
banished from his. Let those who remember D. 
in his constant place, beside the pillar at L. A., ac- 
knowledge that a countenance more brightly irra- 
diated with love and joy never shone among that 
privileged flock. Heart's-ease all over, D. looked 
up and smiled : you could not gaze on him and be 
melancholy. This, too, is a gift to be coveted : a 
liappy look bears eloquent testimony that " the 
peace which passeth all understanding" is no chi- 
mera ; and that godliness hath the promise of this 
life, as well as of that which is to come. 

Yet the word is sure : " In the world ye shall 
12 



184 THE heart's-easb. 

have tribulation ;" and D. experienced it, in a de- 
gree little suspected by those who watched the ex- 
pression of his happy countenance. There are 
insects that, in the darkness of the night, steal forth 
to prey upon the gentle flower that typifies D. ; 
but though they sometimes rend its petals, they 
cannot mar the lovely bloom of what remains : and 
thus had he his undiscovered enemies — cares that 
he revealed to none but his heavenly father, and 
disappointments blighting the dearest projects of an 
affectionate heart. He felt their gnawing progress, 
but he knew the wise purpose for which they 
were sent ; and though, in thoughts and visions of 
the night, his spirit was often sorely harrassed, yet 
the morninfT sun beheld him brio;ht and cheerful as 
ever, through the freshening of that early dew that 
never failed to visit his prayerful chamber. Occa- 
sionally he has admitted to me that so it was ; for 
he well knew that a fellowship in suffering would 
add power to his ready consolations ; and when he 
found me so much absorbed in my own griefs, then 
— only then — it was that he would impart to me a 
portion of his secret sorrow, just sufficient to rouse 
my interest, to excite my sympathy that he might 
immediately turn the discourse to the sweet sola- 
cings of the Divine Comforter, which he described as 
being so effectual, as to make him, ' through the grace 
of God,'' more thankful for a little tribulation than 
he should have been for a vast abundance of pros- 



135 



|yerity. And thus delicately would he insinuate 
the comfort which my fretful spirit was unwilling 
to receive in a more direct way. 

The last Christmas that D. celebrated with the 
militant church on earth, will long be remembered 
by those who passed it with him. It fell on a Sun- 
day ; and he had busied himself much on behalf of 
his poor children, the wild little Irish, who attended 
our dear schools. It is customary, on the Sabbath, 
to give each child, on leaving the school, a thick 
slice of bread and butter, except in cases of flagrant 
misconduct, when the culprits must march past the 
tempting board empty-handed. The importance of 
this boon cannot be appreciated, but by those who 
know something of the squalid misery that pervades 
St. Giles, and that very few of our children tasted 
any thing better than half a meal of potatoes on any 
day throughout the week. A good piece of well 
buttered bread is a prod-igious feast to them. 
However on the day in question, D., as if conscious 
that it was his last time of celebrating the happy 
season among them, provided, for the afternoon, a 
more luxurious entertainment. He filled his blue 
bag with excellent plum-cake, and merrily remarked 
to me, that for once all his clients would be satisfied 
with its contents. To this he added the more dur- 
able gift of some small books and tracts ; and very 
delightful it was to us, the teachers, as we stood 
about him, to witness the reciprocal looks of love 



136 THE heart's-ease. 

between the donor, and the gleeful recipients of 
those gifts. Gravity was, of course, out of the 
question. I should pity the person who tried to 
look solemn among our dear Irish children, when 
the work of the school is over. Neither fluttering 
rags, ill-suited to repel the season's cold, nor 
naked feet, cut and bruised by the filthy pavement 
of St. Giles, nor famished forms that bespoke the 
weekly fast, could counterbalance the mirthful as- 
pect wherewith they approached the pile of cake, 
and the delighted grin of each farewell obeisance. 
My poor dear Irish children ! Why do so few 
among the wealthy ones of London take thought 
for that swarming hive of ever active beings, who, 
by a little devotion of time, a little sacrifice of the 
unrighteous mammon, might be trained to industry, 
and piety, and peace ! Alas ! even of those who 
partook of D.'s parting feast, are not there now 
many to be found in the dens of profligacy, or the 
dungeons of detected crime ? It is the shame, 
and will prove the curse of Christian England, 
that the very heart and centre of her gorgeous 
metropolis should form a throne on which Satan 
is permitted to hold an almost unquestioned reign 
over her empire. Many a missionary is girding 
himself to the work of the Lord in foreign lands . 
but few are the missionaries who will step fifty 
yards out of their daily path, to carry the light of 



137 



the gospel among the dark abodes of wretched 
St. Giles'. 

D. worked diligently ; so that when his sun 
went down at noon, he had accomplished more 
than would be deemed, by the bulk of those in his 
sphere, a full day's labour. He has entered into 
his rest, to shine as the sun, and as the stars, for 
ever and ever, in the kingdom of his Father. Is 
the prize that he has grasped, worth striving after ? 
Go to St. Giles's, and do likewise. Is the work 
that he has wrought, meet to be copied ? Go, and 
gather the desolate little ones, whom he loved to 
lead to Christ. I cannot resume the subject of a 
flower, while my soul is oppressed with the sorrows 
of thousands of perishing souls, enclosed in bodies 
that also are perishing in want, and vice, and all 
the fearful train of consequences attendent thereon. 
If I begin with D. I shall be constrained to end 
my paper, as he ended his life — in pleading with 
the favoured children of God, for pity on the poor, 
the destitute children of Erin. 
12* 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE LAURISTINUS. 



** The memory of the just is blessed." Happy 
are they who comprehend how sinful mortal man 
may be just with God — who, in taking up the hap- 
py boast " He is near that justifieth, who shall 
condemn me ?" can discern as their sole claim to 
this glorious immunity, the justifying righteousness 
of the Lord Jesus Christ, in virtue of which their 
iniquity is forgiven, and their sin is covered : their 
persons are accepted, and their souls are saved. 

I knew an aged man, who lived through many 
long years in the delighted contemplation of this 
mystery ; who realized in its fullest extent the ap- 
plication thereof to himself; who, taught daily to 
comprehend more of the love of Christ which 
passeth knowledge, had a well-spring of love flow- 
ing from the depths of his renewed heart, towards 
every child of Adam. When I saw him last, he 
was green and flourishing; in the seventy-sixth 
year of his pilgrimage — aye, and blossoming too, 
in all the rich, vigorous life that distinguishes nriy 



THE LAURISTINUS. 139 

beautiful Lauristinus, now spreading its wide 
arms over the border, and supplying the vacant 
places of many withered flowers. Very lately, I 
asked of a dear friend, from the remote corner 
where this aged servant of God had been station- 
ed, how our valued brother was prospering? The 
reply was startling, because unexpected: it elicited 
some tears, but they were not those of grief, — 
* Six months ago, he departed to his Lord.' 

I have been a sad egotist throughout these pa- 
pers ; and much am I tempted to mix a deal of 
self in this. But with such a subject before me, I 
must forbear; only stating, that it was the privilege 
of this gracious old man to water the good seed, 
sown by another beloved hand, in the heart of my 
brother : that it was his to remove all my doubts 
and fears on the subject : and that the most trying 
event of my whole life became the means of bring- 
ing me acquainted with pne whose conversation 
was more peculiarly in heaven, and his spirit more 
tinged with the joy of him who knows the blessed 
ness of his future mansion, than that of almost any 
one whom I have met with. 

The sphere of his labour was in a remote part 
of Ireland. And here I must beg my reader to 
remark something which I find it very difficult to 
establish, that I am not a native of Ireland. Eng- 
lish by birth and education, and doubly English by 
deeply-rooted prejudice, I first visited Ireland, 



140 THE LAURISTINUS. 

long after my habits and tastes had become fixed, 
with a most inveterate determination not to hke it 
— in plain terms, to hate the country, and to de- 
spise the people. This resolution, by no means a 
singular one I fear, I was enabled by hard strug- 
gling to maintain, for nearly a whole day ; but 
every particle of frost-work melted at last beneath 
the fervent beams of that warm and smiling wel- 
come, Avhich will win its way to the heart of every 
one who has a heart to be reached. Subsequently, 
the glorious and far brighter beams of divine truth 
burst upon my view, beneath the sky of that belov- 
ed island ; and there my spiritual infancy was 
cradled, there the hand of Christian brotherhood 
was stretched forth, to uphold and to guide my 
tottering steps in the new and narrow path ; there 
1 was built up on this most holy faith, and taught 
to wield, however feebly, the weapons that are not 
carnal. I left the country, as an exile leaves his 
home ; 1 pined and drooped, and still does my 
heart yearn towards its beloved shores. But I am 
no otherwise Irish ; and I have said so much, be- 
cause the frequent recurrence to scenes and sub- 
jects connected with that country, in these periodi- 
cal pages, might appear to be the natural effect of 
patriotic feeling, in one born on its green carpet. 
In me, it is the offspring, not only of deep and 
grateful love, but of a most solemn conviction that 
we are verily guilty, in a henious degree, concern- 



THE LAURISTINUS. 141 

ing our brethren in that most interesting portion of 
the British dominions. 

It was, as I have said, in a remote corner of the 
emerald isle, that the Lord planted, this flourishing 
tree of righteousness, within the sanctuary of His 
church. He was indeed, a faithful pastor, burning 
with zeal, overflowing with love, and singularly 
gifted for the peculiar work to which he was called. 
There was an exuberance of animal spirits, a fund 
of rich humour, a perpetual flashing of original 
wit, that would perhaps have been unsuitable to 
his high and holy ofiice, and which, therefore, the 
Lord might have seen fit to subdue, had he not 
been stationed where such qualifications exactly 
fitted him to win the attention of those around, and 
so to lead them to give audience, even where they 
had been instructed to repel, with brutal force, 
every attempt to fill their ears with sound doc- 
trine. Of all characters, I. know none more dis- 
gusting than a clerical buff'oon : but far from the 
slightest approximation to such an anomaly was 
our dear brother S. Even the sparkles of his wit 
were bright with fire from the altar of God, and 
the quaint expressions that extorted a smile from 
every hearer, were never culled for efl*ect : — it was 
the natural eloquence of a mind full of noble sim- 
plicity, and venting the abundance of its treasures 
too eagerly to pause over the medium by which 
they were conveyed. To set forth Christ crucified, 



143 THE LAURISTINUS. 

as the alone and all-sufficient refuge for sinners, 
was the single object of his life ; and to effect it 
he cared not how homely, how strangely unique, 
or how clasically elegant, was the language or the 
metaphor employed. Intimately acquainted with 
the vernacular tongue of the native Irish, it was 
the ruling desire of his heart to see it adopted, 
and cherished, and consecrated to the service of 
God, by his fellow-labourers. In the naonth of 
April, 1830, this aged Christian first, as he ex- 
pressed it, stepped off the edge of his own green 
carpet, to accompany a deputation to London for 
this very purpose. He appeared on the platform 
in Free-masons' Hall, and in a strain of original 
humour, combined with deep pathos, he placed us, 
as it were, in the very midst of his desolate coun- 
trymen, pourtraying the waywardness of their 
minds, and the destitution of their souls, in lan- 
guage the most thrilling. Then, by a sudden 
transition, he led all our awakened sympathies into 
a scene close by : he showed us that portion of 
poor Irish outcasts congregated in the heart of our 
metropolis ; and, clasping his hands, with almost 
a cry of passionate appeal, 'give but one bread- 
shop for my starving people ! open but one room, 
in wretched St. Giles,' where they may find the 
food of life in their own language ! You English 
Christians, rich in your many privileges, will you 
let the starving souls of my countrymen cry 



THE LAURISTINUS. 143 

against you at the day of judgment ? One little 
bread'shop — give us but that, and thousands un- 
born shall call you blessed !' 

God be praised, the plea was successful ; and 
he has met, before the throne of the Lamb, some 
whose polluted garments were washed clean in 
His blood, through the ministrations of a blessed 
'bread-shop,' established by English Christians, 
before that year had closed on the wretched popu- 
lation of St. Giles. 

In 1833, he came again on his mission of love, 
to rejoice over the work, and to stimulate us anew. 
He then appeared as hale and hearty, in his green 
old age, as before : but he had a witness within, 
that the earthly tabernacle was beginning to fall. 
He said to a dear brother, ' I am looking for pre- 
ferment ;' and the upward glance, the finger point- 
ed towards heaven, the joyous smile that spoke 
not of this world's transitory, possessions, all indi- 
cated his meaning. How and where he put off 
this mortal coil, I know not : but this I know — 
that he had so put on Christ in the days of health- 
ful vigour, and so served Christ in his generation 
here, as to leave no shadow of doubt or solicitude 
as to his beatic realization of all that his soul long- 
ed after, in the presence of God. 

It is in my garden that I especially delight to 
dwell on the memory of this endeared old man ; 
recalling many of his beautiful adaptations in trac- 



144 THE LAURISTINUS. 

ing the constant analogy between the visible works 
of God and those which are imperceptible to out 
ward sense. I have two precious letters of his^ 
from which I must extract a few passages, to illus 
trate my meaning. The reader will easily surmise 
that they referred to the trying event which intro- 
duced me to his sympathizing regard. 

'I cannot describe to you the great and universal 
concern and grief with which the account of your 
dear brother's sudden and unexpected removal from 
a world of trials and tribulations was received at 

C . It seemed as if " all faces were turned 

into paleness," and all tongues cried out, " Alas ! 
my brother." But there is a needs-be for every 
thincr of this kind that occurs : what our Lord is 

o 

pleased to do, we know not now, but we shall 
know hereafter. There is one precious know- 
ledge, however, and that is, that "all things work 
together for good to them that love God ; to them 
that are the called," &c. This sweet drop of gos- 
pel honey has often rendered palatable to me the 
bitterest infusions that ever were mixed in my cup 
of life. But why should I talk of one drop alone 
— is not our hive (our bible) full of honey ? full of 
consolations, full of promises, and privileges, and 
prospects, and assurarices, that render the suffer- 
ings of this transitory life, in the eye of a Chris- 
tian philosopher, of as little consequence as the 
buzzing of the summer flies ? You are tried, my 



THE LAURIStlNUS. 145 

lister beloved, and I condole with you frona the 
very bottom of my heart ; but do suffer a ' Paul 
the aged,' to remind you of what I hiow the Spirit 
and word of God has already taught you, that it is 
good for you to be afflicted ; that it is through 
trials and tribulations we enter (or make advances 
into) the kingdom of heaven ; and when you are 
thrown into the furnace of affliction, Christ stands 
by the fire ; and that sanctified afflictions are 
spiritual promotions. The darker the cloud, my 
dear co-heiress, the more vivid the lightning : and 
the more we suffer in the flesh, the nrore (very 
often) we rejoice in the Spirit. The rainbow al- 
ways appears most bright in the most broken wea- 
ther ; and He, of whom it is an emblem, mani- 
fests himself most clearly to the mourning, the 
afflicted, the penitent, the broken heart. May the 
oil and wine of the gospel be plentifully poured 
into your bleeding wounds, by the Good Samaritan 
whom we love and serve !' 

On this last sentence a tear fell, from the com- 
passionate old man ; and no words can do justice 
to the feelings with which I look upon the little 
blot, now that God himself has wiped away all 
tears from those eyes, and given him to see how 
acceptable in His sight was this cup of consola- 
tion, bestowed on one of the least and most un- 
worthy of those whom he vouchsafes to call His. 

The following extract, from a subsequent letter, 
13 



146 THE LAURISTINUS. 

very sweetly now applies to the writer, who is, as 
I humbly and confidently trust, rejoicing with him 
who was its original subject. ' Yes, with him the 
bitterness of death is past : the ministration of 
mortality is broken, and the liberated, the disem- 
bodied spirit is with God, who gave it. Of what 
consequence is it, my loved, my respected sister 
and friend, how or when the earthly house of the 
tabernacle we now inhabit is torn down, or dissolv- 
ed, when we know that we have a " building of 
God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens," to remove to and occupy ? There is a 
precatory, or optative expression in the Romish 
Missal (service for the dead) with respect to a per- 
son removed from time into eternity, which is not 
as comfortable as the scriptural declarations are on 
that important subject, ' requiescat in pace/ — may 
he rest in peace ! This does not pour into the bleed- 
ing, the grieving heart of a surviving friend, the 
sweet, the refreshing, the sanative wine and oil 
that is conveyed to a Christian's afflicted soul, by 
that heavenly voice heard by John, which pro- 
nounced the dead to be blessed who died in the 
Lord, ''from henceforth^'' — from the instant of their 
dissolution — enjoying, not wishing, waiting for, or 
expecting, that " rest that remaineth for the people 
of God." Knowing then, and being fully and 
satisfactorily assured of this consolatory truth, that 
the dead in Christ are blessed, that they are not 



THE LAURISTINUS. 147 

lost, but gone before ; that our adored Redeemer, 
in the capacioifs mansions of his Father's house, 
has prepared a place for all our dear departed 
Christian friends, and is prepariyig a place for our- 
selves, " let not our hearts be" over anxiously, im- 
moderately, unreasonably, or irreligiously, " troub- 
led." Let us, in the present lamented instance, 
say, and be thankful that we can say it, ' requiesc/^ 
in pace' — he rests in peace. And as it was the 
Lord who gave him for a time to his relatives and 
friends, and it is the same Lord who has been 
pleased to take him away, let us all say, '' Blessed 
be the name of the Lord !" 

There is an exquisite delicacy in the manner of 
conveying these rich consolations to a bereaved 
spirit. A tender caution not to grate upon ihe 
sense, by seeming to make light of that affliction 
which it professes to soothe, is the most important 
requisite, where real sympathy would display it- 
self. My revered friend may, in these extracts, 
speak comfort even now to some wounded heart, 
and furnish a valuable model to those whose privi- 
lege it is to administer comfort to others. I have 
identified the Lauristinus with this departed teach- 
er ; and I desire to profit by the recollection, when- 
ever I glance upon that luxuriant shrub ; the white 
flowers of which bear a distant resemblance to 
the fair blossoms of May. These usher in the 
many-coloured attendants of blooming Spring ; the 



148 THE LAURISTINUS. 

Others smile upon the scene, when deserted even 
by the last Imgering relics of sober Autumn. The 
Lauristinus loves to overtop a lofty v^all, and to 
look out beyond its native garden, upon scenes un- 
adorned by such embellishments. It will cast its 
spreading branches over the fence, as if eager to 
beautify an uncultivated region, and to smile where 
all was dull, and barren, and uninviting. High and 
stubborn indeed is the barrier which separates the 
watered garden of the Lord's church from those 
who are not only alienated by a false and idola- 
trous religion, but rendered more inaccessible by 
dissimilarity of language, which few, very few, 
will trouble themselves to overleap. Herein the 

Lauristinus beautifullytypifies the venerable S , 

who surmounted the barrier, and spread abroad the 
gospel invitation, where, otherwise, it could not 
have come. His vigorous growth shewed how 
rich was the soil that bore him ; his healthful 
abundance proved how careful the hand that train- 
ed him : and while his aspect invited a farther ac- 
quaintance with both, his example proved that no 
obstacle, really insurmountable, existed to prevent 
the external desert from becoming a garden — the 
waste wilderness from blossoming as the rose. 

In his own beloved, poor country, he was indeed 
a prophet : I know not where his mantle has fallen 
— what favoured lips shall exercise the precious 
gift, so available to the souls of his Irish-speaking 



THE LAURISTINUS. 149 

neighbours : but, last spring, a young sucker from 
the ancient Lauristinus was transplanted to another 
part of my garden, to replace a stunted holly that 
would neither grow nor die. I passed it to-day, 
and most richly had it spread abroad, while burst- 
ing buds tufted every sprig that shot from among 
the dark glossy leaves in youthful luxuriance. It 
was a cheering sight : my heart bade it go on to 
grow and prosper, and beautify its new station ; 
while I secretly traced out a parallel for it, on the 
far western coast of my beloved isle, and confi- 
dently trusted that, from the parent tree — now re- 
moved to a brighter garden — would some be found 
to have sprung who shall cause the desert to re- 
joice, and make glad the solitary places with tidings 
of everlasting salvation. 

13* 



CHAPTER XII. 



THE HOLLY-BUSH, 



How cheerless an aspect would our gardens wear, 
in this dreary month of December, had not some 
plants been indued with haj-dihood to retain their 
leaves, when the greater proportion was stripped 
bare by chilling frosts and blighting winds. It is 
a point of wisdom, plentifully to intersperse our 
evergreens among the brighter, but more transitory 
children of summer ; and now that the dead leaves 
are finally swept off, and my garden looks once 
more perfectly tidy, I can appreciate the taste that, 
in first laying it out — long before I had ever seen 
it — allotted no small space to plants that would 
defy the season's severity. Of grass there is 
abundance ; but that being easily buried under a 
light fall of snow, I will not glory in it. There is 
a full proportion of classic laurel, the slender Alex- 
andrine, the towering Portuguese, and our more 
common species, distinguished by the glossy polish 
of its leaves. The fir, the cypress, and the yew, 
present their varied, yet not dissimilar foliage : and, 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 



151 



m a conspicuous place stands the spreading rho- 
dodendron, prepared to unfold its exquisite blossoms 
to the first warm breath of spring. An arbutus of 
large growth displays its mimic straw-berries, pen- 
dant among the leaves, where lately shone those 
elegant white clusters that so remarkably attract 
the roving butterfly, and the diligent bee. This 
tree I reckon among the gems of the garden, 
l^arther on, where my rose bushes have well nigh 
perished from the antique wall, a profusion of ivy 
limgs its straggling shoots downwards from the 
summH, as if solicitous to occupy the vacant space, 
iiiere too, the lauristinus flourishes, in full vigour 
and beauty; while the dwarf box, well trimmed, 
edges my flower beds, and trained into shrubs, af- 
fords a pleasant variety, where the china rose re- 
tains Its pale green leaf, with firm, upright buds 
i^ady to expand in succession throughout the year' 
Ihe variegated bay occupies a conspicuous post • 
and, last not least, the Holly-bush abounds, valu- 
able as a fence, beautiful in the lustre of its hiohly 
polished leaves, sprinkled with berries of vivid ?ed • 
and endeared by the sweetest, the purest, the most 
sacred associations that can interest the mind, and 
elevate the soul. 

I wish with all my heart, that the grandsires 
and granddames of this generation would do some- 
thing to stem that sweeping tide of oblivious folly, 
yclept the march of intellect---the progress of refine- 



152 THE HOLLY -BTJSH. 

merit. Is now intolerably vulgar, insupportably 
childish, and popishly superstitious, to deck our 
houses of Christmas-tide with the shining holly, the 
absence of which was almost unknown among some 
who may yet be proved to have excelled in true wis- 
dom this our vaunted age of reason. I have fought 
many battles with my pious friends, in defence of 
my pertinacious adherence to this good old cus- 
tom. Sorry should I be, to leave the holly uncrop- 
ped, or the house unadorned with its bright honours, 
on that most blessed anniversary. Roast beef and 
plum-pudding, home-brewed ale, and Christmas 
berries, have certainly, no necessary connection 
with the spiritual aspirations required of us ; and 
which the renewed heart will delight in breathing 
forth, while reminded, in the beautiful services of 
our scriptural church, that on the occasion com- 
memorated, a great multitude of the heavenly host 
disdained not to take the lead in songs that were 
made for poor sinners of the dust, " Glory to God 
in the highest, on earth peace, good-will towards 
men." But this I will maintain, that our non-ob- 
servance of ancient usages is any thing but a proof 
of growing spirituality of feeling ; and I very much 
question whether those who contemn the sprigs of 
* Christmas' stuck over my mantle-piece in hon- 
our of this precious festival, are wiser than the 
disciples of old, who cut down branches of palm- 
trees, and strewed them in the way. 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 153 

Four years since, when the dumb boy was fast 
sinking under the fatal disease that, in a few weeks, 
was to terminate his mortal career, we went out, 
on Christmas eve, by his desire, to bring him 
some holly. One of our party, who to say truth, 
was then still under the dominion of popery, car- 
ried her zeal so far, that almost a forest was 
brought into Jack's sitting-room ; and I was re- 
monstrating, when he interrupted me with ' Good, 
good !' An expression of the most divine sweet- 
ness overspread his countenance, while, raising his 
meek eyes to me, he took a small sprig of the hol- 
ly, pricking the back of his hand with its pointed 
leaf, and shewed me the little scars left by it. 
Then, selecting a long shoot, he made a sign to 
twist it about his head, described the pain that it 
would give him to do so : and with starting tears 
said, 'Jesus Christ.' Who could fail to read in 
those eloquent looks and actions, his vivid recol- 
lection of the crown of thorns ? He then pointed 
to the berries, thinly scattered on the holly bough ; 
and told me God put them there to remind him of 
the drops of blood that stained his Saviour's brow, 
when so crowned. I stood before the boy, filled 
with conscious shame, for that I had never traced 
the touching symbol : while the piteous expression 
of his pale countenance bespoke that exquisite reali- 
zation of the scene, to which I never could attain. 
How cold and hard did I feel my own heart to be, 



154j THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

when I might even see the melting of that poor 
boy's, under the sense of what his Redeemer had 
suffered for him. For him, indeed ; such an un- 
doubting appropriation of the work to his own 
eternal gain, few are privileged to witness — fewer 
to experience. 

After this, he requested us to surround the room 
on all sides with the holly, until he sat as in a 
bower ; and then endeavoured to instruct his sister 
on the great difference between loving the symbol 
and regarding it superstitiously. He adverted with 
grief and indignation to the popish chapels, where 
at this season, a more abundant measure of adora- 
tion is offered at the idol shrines : and strongly 
insisted that all honours should be paid to the living 
God alone. 

Attached as I always was to the old custom of 
decorating our houses and churches with the holly- 
bough, it may be believed that the scene just 
sketched, left an impression not calculated to de- 
crease my partiality for the usages of other days. 
From that evening, the holly has been to me a 
consecrated plant : and every sprig that I have 
gathered, has furnished me with a text for long 
and touching meditation, on the subject of our re- 
demption, — on the character of Him who achieved it. 

When commencing these sketches, T promised 
that they should embrace none but individuals who 
were known to me, — ^how solemn is the question 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 155 

that presents itself! — have /known Jesus Christ? 
Him to know is hfe eternah Well I know my 
need of him : my total, and everlasting ruin with- 
out him : I know his power and willingness to 
save, even to the uttermost, the very chief of sin- 
ners who come to God by him — but to say that I 
know him as the dumb boy knew him, that I 
can with so steady a hand lay hold on Christ, as 
being made of God nnto me, wisdom, and right- 
eousness, and sanctification, and redemption — and 
that, loo, to the utmost bound of my necessities — 
thus to believe, and believing to rejoice, with joy 
unspeakable and full of glory — no, I dare not yet 
say it. Often have I asked the boy, ' Does Jack 
love Jesus Christ ?' The reply has always been, 
with a bright and placid smile, ' Yes, Jack very 
much loves Jesus Christ — Jesus Christ loves poor 
Jack.' But if I ask myself. Do I love him? I 
can but tremble, and say, ' I desire so to do.' Yet 
I have the full conviction that he has loved me, 
and given himself for me ; and if I couJd unlearn 
enough to become as wise as Jack, I might attain 
to his blessed assurance. 

Taking the holly as Jack viewed it, — as a type 
of that which is salvation to all who believe— how 
many interesting points of resemblance may be 
traced ! Passing through the highways, where 
every foot is free to tread, we mark the shining 
evergreen, with its bright berries, conspicuous by 



156 THE IIOLLY-BUSH. 

the road-side, inviting us to make the prize our 
own, to bear it away, that our hearts may be glad- 
dened by its verdure, more rich and durable in 
midwinter than is tlie foliage of summer roses. 
Even so, salvation is found of them that seek it 
not ; freely, abundantly offered to all whose ear 
the glad tidings reach ; and when by the hand of 
faith appropriated, wdio shall dispute the posses- 
sion ? Which of this world's fleeting glories can 
so gladden the heart, and beautify the home of its 
proprietor, as does the unwithering leaf of him who 
is rooted and grounded in the hope of the gospel ? 

We cannot, indeed, divest the holly of its nu- 
merous thorns; neither can we separate the Chris- 
tian from his cross, or the promised heaven from 
the ''much tribulation" through which it is ap- 
pointed us to attain it ; but a more touching char- 
acter is imparted to those thorns, by adopting the 
idea of the dumb boy : every blessing that we 
reap from the grand work of redemption, is a me- 
mento of the sufferings of Him, upon whom the 
chastisement of our peace was laid. 

And, in those uncultivated spots where the holly 
grows wild and free, by what a scene is it gene- 
rally surrounded, at this season ! The oak that 
soars above, in the pride of vegetable empire, the 
elm, and the hazle, the hawthorn and the wild 
brier, look dark and chilling in their leafless guize * 
no verdant neighbour sympathizes with the holly, 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 157 

nor spreads its green mantle in cheerful compan- 
ionship. No gaudy butterfly sports around it, nor 
does the bee come forth to ply her busy trade 
among its branches. The snow-drift alone lodges 
there; and every howling wind vents upon it a 
passing murmur. Yet, calm and contented, the 
beautiful plant uprears its head, well-pleased to 
put honour upon a season that few of the gay ones 
of the earth care to adorn. I should be sorry to 
overlook this ; for it tells me of Him who came 
into this dark and stormy world, to suffer and to 
do what nothing but Almighty love could have 
supported or achieved ; who looked for some to 
take pity, but there was none ; and for comforters, 
but found no man : — who not only bore the scorn, 
the rebuke, and the rejection of those in whose 
likeness he vouchsafed to appear, but endured the 
storms of divine wrath, the blasting of the breath 
of that displeasure which had waxed hot against 
the inhabitants of the earth, and to which he pre- 
sented himself, an innocent and a willing mark. 

Then the berries : what a tongue is their's, while 
they represent to my eye that which speaketh bet- 
ter things than the blood of Abel. Wrung forth in 
slow droppings from the agonized body, which 
sweated blood through the pressure of mental an- 
guish, before the scourge, the thorn, and the nail 
had pierced the sinless flesh of their victim, — how 
precious was that coin which was given to ransom 
14 



158 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

a world of lost sinners ! Who can hold back, 
when invited to wash and be clean, in the purify- 
ing fountain ? And who shall dare to exclude him- 
self, or his fellow, from this sphere of an unlimited 
invitation ? 

Perchance there may be some, who will trace, 
in my fondness for this type, an approximation to 
the popish doctrine of image-worship. We all 
know that this abominable idolatry originated in 
the specious contrivance of exhibiting pictures and 
images in the churches, that, by visible objects, 
the gazers might be stirred up to a more perfect 
realization of what was taught from the pulpit. I 
should be sorry to incur such suspicion ; but, as 
the introduction of holly-boughs into our temples, 
or the placing of a few sprigs over our fire-places, 
has never yet issued in any thing heterodox, as far 
as I can discover, I must still plead for the dear 
old custom ; still wreathe the holly with the misle- 
toe, in grateful acknowledgment of the mercy that 
rescued my country from the darkness of heathen- 
ism — from the sanguinary rites that once polluted 
the shadow of her majestic oaks. That kingly 
tree, himself denuded by the hand of winter, can 
yield no foliage to honour our sacred festival ; but 
sends the little misletoe, his foster-child, to do 
homage in his stead. Alas, for England when she 
shall discontinue the observances of her pious re- 
formers, her martyrs, and apostles of a brighter 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 169 

day ! I grant that these are only shadows ; yet, 
when the sun shines brightly, what body is with- 
out one ? It may be our pride to cast away such 
shades ; but when I can no longer trace them, I 
am inclined to apprehend, either that the substance 
has melted away, or that the sun-beam falls not so 
clearly as it was wont to do. 

Yet not alone to the sufferings of a crucified 
Saviour do I hold the holly sacred. I know that 
He who once came to visit us in great humility 
shall yet come again in his glorious majesty, to 
judge both the quick and dead. I know that he 
jWill appear, in the splendours of immortality, in 
the grandeur of his Almighty power, while the 
wrecks of all that this world cherishes, of pomp, 
and pride, and greatness, shall crumble beneath 
his feet, and pass away like the last fragments of 
November's shrivelled leaves before the whirlwind. 
Then every eye shall see him, and they also which 
pierced him, and all the kindreds of the earth shall 
w^ail because of him. No longer stained with the 
crimson drops of his own life-stream, his vesture 
shall then be dipped in the blood of his enemies. 
He, who, with tears and groans, achieved, unas- 
sisted, the work of our redemption, shall then 
alone tread the great wine-press of the wrath of 
God. Then his enemies shall feel his hand : for 
he will tread them in his anger, and trample them 
in his fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon 



160 THE HOLLY-BUSH. 

his garments. Lovely and precious indeed is the 
accepted Saviour, to the souls who have made him 
their refuge : terrible, beyond what heart can con- 
ceive, will be the slighted, the rejected. Saviour, 
to those who, going on frowardly in the way of 
their own hearts, make light of his offered salva- 
tion, and treasure up for themselves the most 
dreadful of all inflictions — the wrath of the Lamb. 
I am deeply convinced, that an apprehension of 
being led into the unscriptural lengths to which 
some have carried their speculations on unfulfilled 
prophecy, drives many into the opposite extreme 
of shrinking from the contemplation of that which 
is clearly revealed. Our Lord has given us a 
solemn, a reiterated injunction to watch for those 
things that, in the fulness of time, shall come to 
pass : he has made his warnings profitable to every 
intermediate period of the church ; but, inasmuch 
as it is not his will to add another revelation to 
what is already perfect, he has laid down marks 
and signs whereby his people may safely judge 
when the events predicted are about to take place. 
Around us, in this our day, every sign is rapidly 
accumulating, — and shall we close our eyes to the 
awful fact ? — shall we refuse to watch, and to ex- 
pect the fulfilment to which God himself vouch- 
safes to direct our attention? — shall we arraign his 
wisdom, in preparing us for those things that are 
beginning to come upon the earth? Long has 



THE HOLLY-BUSH. 161 

Satan triumphed over all that was created so beau- 
tiful and good, crushing it into a scene of wintry- 
devastation, and sending across it many a storm, 
originating in the perverted elements of depraved 
humanity ; and surely it is a glorious hope that 
spreads before us a speedy termination to this Sa- 
tanic reign — that gives promise of another and a 
brighter spring ; when the Sun of Righteousness 
shall arise and shine, throughout the wide range 
of our beautiful sphere, and the kingdoms of this 
w^orld shall become the kingdom of our God, and 
of his Christ. 

14* 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 



* A HAPPY new year.' — From how many thousands 
of voices is that greeting heard ! I love to receive 
it even when friendships are so young, that it is 
the first occasion offered of exchanging the kindly 
salutation ; but there is a feeling that does not 
display itself; an under-current, deep and strong, 
rolling over the graves of by-gone years, and 
sounding in secret a knell that is not heard amid 
the cheerful tones of the upper world. True, by 
the mercy of God, a happy new year may be mine ; 
truly happy, if his grace render it a year of spirit- 
ual improvement, of perceptible progress towards 
the consummation of all real bliss : but flesh is 
very slow to receive such interpretation of a term 
long applied to the pleasant things of time and 
sense ; and instead of being rejoiced at having 
learned the truest meaning of an abused term, — of 
being brought to understand the right appropriation 
of the emphatic words, ' Happy are ye,' — how 
prone are we to look back upon the worldly sub- 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 163 

Stance— or worldly shadows— that we have barter- 
ed ; while the pearl of great price, though perhaps 
acknowledged to be our own, may lie before us 
almost unheeded— certainly undervalued— as the 
regretful sigh escapes. 

This, at least, is my case : knowing and closing 
with the announcement, that we must throuo-h 
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven; 
and being well assured, that He who spake the 
word, "In the world ye shall have tribulation," 
hath in him no variableness, neither shadow of 
turning; how wonderful it is that every hght afflic- 
tion, sent to wean me from earth, should be re- 
garded as a strange thing; and a sort of careful 
account-book kept from year to year, of what has 
been done against my will, though in answer to 
my prayers : as I number successive bereave- 
ments, and secretly ask, " was there ever any sor- 
row like my sorrow, wherewith the Lord hath af- 
flicted me ?" I meet a funeral party, perhaps in 
my daily walk, and compassionate thoughts may 
follow the weeping mourners, as they hold their 
sad, slow progress towards the grave: but the 
emotion is very transient, and the scene soon fades 
into forgetfulness ; but when I betake myself to 
the numbering of my past funerals, when I con- 
template some dreary blank left in my bosom by 
the removal of a cherished object, it will almost 
seem that all other griefs are common and poor — 



164 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

mine only deserving to be chronicled in those 
fleshly tables of the heart, which God has prepared 
for the reception of his own laws — the manifold 
tokens of his unchangeable and everlasting love. 

AH this, or something resembling it, has doubt- 
less been said or sung, on a topic, as old, nearly, 
as the globe which we inhabit. Nevertheless, I 
have repeated it, in order to account for my pecu- 
liar taste in new-years' salutations. I love the old 
custom, and cannot dispense with it among friends ; 
but my special delight is to exchange greetings 
with some little flower that may have outlived the 
prefatory blasts of mid-winter, and lingered to 
welcome another year. In seasons of severity, 
when intense frost has cut down, or deep snow 
overlaid the tender blossoms, I am driven to my 
in-door collection ; but far better do I love to 
search the garden, the hedge-row, and the field ; 
if perchance some native production may reward 
my diligent scrutiny. 

There is one, not uncommon at this season; the 
Christmas rose. It is the saddest, in aspect, of 
the numerous family that bear that distinguished 
name : but the scene where I first remember to 
have met with it was characterized by any thing 
rather than sadness. 

It was a new-year's party of youthful guests, 
many being accompanied by their elder connex- 
ions, at the house of an opulent and most hospit- 



THE CHRISTIVIAS ROSE. 165 



able famil)^ in my native place. The noble sir- 
loin, with his attendant turkey, not then considered 
intrusive even at three o'clock, having led the van 
of a most substantial dinner, a body of much 
lighter auxiliaries brought up the rear. As a finale, 
after my plumb-pudding, I received a portion of 
sweet jelly : and with it one of the Christmas 
roses that, mingled with sprigs of myrtle and ge- 
ranium, had graced the epergne. I was then 
about nine years old, and have a distinct recollec 
tion of sitting, with my eyes cast down on the 
flower, — which I retained to the close of the feast, 
— while innumerable thoughts arose, forming a 
link hardly broken at this distant day, between my 
then habits and enjoyments, and that world of 
flowers of which a few fragments were scattered 
before me. 

I know that, when our glasses were replenished, 
"with orange wine, to drink a happy new-year all 
round, the Christmas rose which I held in my 
hand formed a portion of my new-year's happi- 
ness, by no means inconsiderable : and strange is 
the vision that flits before my mind's eye, when, 
under similar circumstances, I now meet one of 
that unpretending race. I can better bear to go 
back so far, than to let my thoughts rest half-way 
between that early period and the present. I can- 
not wish myself a child again, even in my saddest 
moments : for who that has trod so far on a thorny 



166 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

path would desire to retrace the whole road ! But 
the new year's salutations that ensued, when child- 
hood had ripened into youth, and, yet more, those 
which gladdened seasons of longer experience — - 
oh, it is hard to feel that they must never again 
be mine ! 

The happiest part of the happiest new year, was 
that, when I could reiterate the warmest wishes of 
the season to one on whom I might look with the 
sweet retrospections, combined with recent fears 
and present security, so beautifully expressed in 
those simple lines, 

' We twa ha'e rin about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine, 
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 

Sin' auld lang syne, 
We twa ha'e paid let i' the burn 

Frae mornin's sun till dine, 
But seas between us braid ha'e roare 

Sin' auld lang syne.' 

No : this world can afford us nothing, fully to oc- 
cupy the chasm that remains, after the removal of 
an object endeared by first and fondest associations. 
Some, I know, have not their warm affections fully 
drawn out until, beyond the circle of their home, 
they meet with one capable of attracting them : 
and, no doubt, the feeling is then more intense, and 
absorbing ; but as deep it cannot be : because it 
cannot carry its associations so far back, into early 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 167 

years ; nor trace the happy tie entwined even amid 
the scenes and sensations of childhood, to which 
no human being can avoid sometimes recurring 
with fond recollection. But, whatever may have 
been the duration of such endearing attachments, 
that chasm of which I speak can never be filled 
up. It is as when a mould is delicately taken from 
a peculiar countenance ; with which no other fea- 
tures will be found exactly to correspond. The 
many millions of earth's inhabitants may be num- 
bered over in vain, to discover a face upon which 
that mould shall fit : resemblances there are, and 
strong ones ; but a counterpart the world cannot 
furnish — the mould will remain, an unappropriated 
memento of what we can no more recall. It may 
multiply by thousands the lifeless images of what 
once was ; but the reality is gone forever. 

What then remains ? Something which is not 
in the world's gift. We hav6 a better and more 
enduring substance, capable of so filling every 
vacancy, that we should have nothing to repine at, 
if we would avail ourselves of it. " A shadow that 
departeth," is legibly written on every created 
thing around us : this we know ; and is it not 
strange that, having seen the most precious of 
these shadowy possessions elude our eager hold, 
and vanish away, we should rather love to look 
about for something equally insecure, whereon to 
lavish our disappointed affections, than turn at once 



168 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

to that which, whether in time or in eternity, fadeth 
not away 1 It is the weightiest part of the curse 
that so presses our souls into the dust, inclining us 
to lade ourselves with thick clay, in the face of 
the acknowledged fact, that it must crunable and 
fall off. I task myself continually with the diffi- 
cult work of applying this lesson, so easily learnt 
in word ; so hard to reduce to practice : but while 
I treasure up with jealous care the fragments of 
every broken tie, and would not relinquish one of 
them, nor forget how the bursting of it rent my in- 
most heart, I am ever ready to the unwise occupa- 
tion of forming new ones, to be in like manner 
served, and to plant an additional pang. It is 
partly a consciousness of this that sends me to the 
iEiowers of my new year's greeting : they are not 
individualized, like the loved ones of my own race. 
I can take a Christmas rose, and, in every point, 
identify it with the first that attracted my childish 
notice. It seems to be an actual relic of the scene 
so gay in lengthened distance ; it has, I know not 
how, outlived the bloom of all, the mortal existence 
of many, whose laughing countenances shone round 
me that day. By being the representative of a 
whole assemblage, some of whom are now on 
their way rejoicing, together with me, that they 
have been led to seek a city which hath foundations, 
the sigh of regret is softened as I gaze on the 
flower, and I feel an acquiescence in the common 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 169 

lot of my species ; a thankfulness for mercies past ; 
a cheerful trust in the word of those good promises 
yet to be fulfilled, and a readiness to go forward, 
after marking the Eben-ezers that I have been 
constrained to set up at the close of every fleeting 
year. 

' But this is not a chapter on flowers — it is a 
chapter on new years, very barren of incident, and 
too vague to be classed with your floral biogra- 
phy.' Have patience, dear reader ; I will not 
leave you without singling one from the many 
cheerful assemblages that the Christmas rose has 
graced, from time to time, before or since it at- 
tracted my especial notice. 

Even prior to the period alluded to, while I was 
yet but a very little girl, I had often been the fa- 
vourite playfellow of one who had a nearer claim 
than the tie of mere acquaintanceship. His story 
is touching ; and T will give it briefly. He was 
born in a distant country, and came among us to 
be educated : many years older than myself, I can 
but remember him as a tall 3^outh, when I was a 
child : but many little recollections combine to 
make his image familiar to my mind's eye. Hav- 
ing completed his studies in England, he left our 
shores, highly accomplished, and returned to the 
bosom of a family whose pride he was. Not long 
after, he was unhappily led, by the influence of 
some who knew how to work on his chivalric char- 
15 



170 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

acter, to accept a distinguished rank in a wild ro- 
mantic expedition, planned by sonne enthusiastic 
military men, to effect a landing, and to excite a 
revolution, in the South American territories of 
Spain. 

The result was disastrous : the landing took 
place ; but in an action with the colonists, a great 
number of the invading party were killed, some 
saved themselves by precipitate flight, and the re- 
mainder were made captive. Among the latter, 
was my old playmate and kinsman ; and the intel- 
ligence soon reached his distracted parents, that 
their beloved son was condemned to labour for life, 
in the mines of Peru ! 

His father, who possessed high claims on the 
confidence and consideration of the British govern- 
ment, hastened to make known his afflictive case ; 
and letters were given to him from various mem- 
bers of the Royal Family, and from distinguished 
official men, to the court of Spain. Thither sped 
the anxious father ; and by persevering importu- 
nity, obtained, though with great difficulty, the pre- 
cious boon — an order for his son's immediate re- 
lease — with this he again crossed the Atlantic, and 
had the unspeakable delight of delivering the poor 
captive, and conducting him once more to the arms 
of a rejoicing mother, a fond circle of brothers and 
sisters, to whom he appeared as one alive from the 
dead. Very sweet is my recollection of the jubilee 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 171 

among us, when those glad tidings reached his En- 
ghsh friends : and our joy was increased, when in- 
formed that he considered his happiness incom- 
plete, until he should have received in person the 
congratulations of those by whom he had been so 
long regarded as a son and a brother. 

With this object in view, he repaired to one of 
the West Indian Isles ; from whence a vessel was 
about to sail for our shores. She was very unfit, 
in the judgment of many, for a long voyage ; but 
our young friend's ardent character prevailed over 
prudential considerations — he would not brook de- 
lay. He sailed — and we received tidings of the 
day and hour when he left the port : but other 
tidings never, never came, of the vessel or her 
freight. 

Often have we sat round the fire-side of the 
venerable and venerated individual, who, with 
maternal fondness looked upon three generations 
of her numerous progeny : and while the tale of 
her darling grandson was again and again recount- 
ed, we have talked of pirates, and of shipwrecks 
on desolate places, whence after a long lapse of 
years the objects who were mourned as dead, 
have returned to overwhelm their sorrowing friends 
with unlooked-for joy. We have talked, until a 
i^nock at the hall-door, or the sound of a man's 
voice from without, has sent the thrill of undefined 
expectation through many a bosom ; to be sue- 



172 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 

ceeded by the starting tear, and half-uttered whis 
per of, ' His poor Mother ! what must she feel V 
It is true that the outhne alone of this sad story is 
impressed on my mind ; but it is strongly engraven 
there : and from it I have draw^n lessons of thank- 
fulness under all my most trying afflictions. In 
every case, I had at least a melancholy certain!)^ : 
I have not been left to endure the long torture of 
mocking hope — of that wild, obstinate clinging to 
bare and meagre possibility that the sorrows of 
my soul might be suddenly turned into unspeaka- 
ble, worldly, joy. We do not half consider the 
measure of mercy that is given to sooth our bitter- 
est grief. We do not, as we might, take a survey 
of what others have had to encounter, when worm- 
wood has been added to their gall. There are 
some who would barter all the comforts left in 
their lot, for that which may be our deepest grief 
— the sight of a quiet grave, where the heart's 
most cherished treasure peacefully moulders be- 
neath. They could be resigned, if they assuredly 
knew that all was indeed over : but that cruel 
phantom of hope for ever flits before their eyes ; 
and the spirit cannot rest — cannot turn away from 
the pictures that imagination is constantly pour- 
traying, of what may be reserved of future dis- 
covery, and reunion here. In ordinary cases, the 
vacated seat is again occupied : and the heart 
can struggle into acquiescence that so it should be : 



THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 173 

but alas for those, to whose sight a vacancy ever 
appears, which they cannot but feel may yet again 
be filled by the loved object to whom it was ap- 
propriated ! There is balm, indeed, for the Chris- 
tian thus circumstanced : his faith is put into a 
more trying furnace : and a higher exercise of it 
demanded : but as his day, so shall his strength 
be. God doth not willingly afflict ; this cross, and 
none other, was prepared for the individual, with a 
purpose of mercy for which he shall here glorify 
God in the fires of tribulation, and hereafter in the 
felicity of his eternal kingdom. Living or dead, 
the eye of the Father is upon all : and the sorrow- 
ful, the conditional prayer, with its heart-breaking 
clauses, ' if yet he liveth,' may be receiving an 
answer little understood by the tearful supplicant ; 
or, should the subject of it have indeed passed be- 
yond this mortal scene, and thus be moved out of 
the reach of our intercession, such prayer may 
return to the bosom that breathes it, with a bles- 
sing beyond his hopes. 

Over his providential dealings, the Lord soma-- 
times draws a thick veil ; and upon its surface we 
discern only these words. " Trust in Him at all 
tim.es." May He enable the afflicted soul to res- 
pond, " Thougli He slay me, yet will I trust in 
Him." 

16* 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE PURPLE CROCUS, 



To those who admit — and who can deny it ? — that 
flowers are a special and most unmerited gift to 
brighten the path which man's transgressions have 
darkened with sadness, and strewn with thorns, it 
is a touching circumstance that, be the seasons 
what they may, there is no month in the twelve 
without its attendant blossoms. If the human eye 
possessed a micoscropic power, what a spectacle 
of beauty would burst upon it, and that too in 
wintry time, among the family of mosses alone ! 
But such not being the extent of the visual organ 
entrusted to us, we are not left to go groping about 
with glasses. Enough is given to common ken to 
prompt a song of praise, "Wonderful are thy 
works. Lord God Almighty !" 

It is a peculiar feature in this part of those won- 
derful works, that, although we lack not tall shrubs, 
even trees, that win the upturned eye to explore 
the abundance of their beautiful tints, still the far 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 175 

greater portion of our most valued flowers draw 
the gaze downwards, by their lowly stature ; while 
their own faces, raised to heaven, set us the exam- 
ple of looking thitherward. It is remarkable that 
the blossoms of lofty plants are most frequently 
pendulous ; those of the dwarf family the reverse. 
The golden clusters of the beautiful laburnum, and 
the shining silver of the yet lovelier acacia — how 
gracefully they bend and fall, as though ashamed 
of being placed so high ; while the innocent daisy, 
made to be trampled on, and her neighbour, the 
spruce little butter-cup, lift up their broad bright 
eye, in unreserved freedom. Thus the great one 
of the earth, when touched by divine grace, rejoices 
to be brought down, and the brother of low degree 
can also rejoice in that he is exalted into a great- 
ness that the world knows not of. 

This is a dreary season ; bleak winds are abroad 
and the frequent snow-drift oppresses every bough. 
The holly's bright berry peeps out here and there ; 
but for flowers I may search in vain among the 
branches. I must look lower, and there they are 
— the regiments of soldiers, as my childish fancy 
termed them, that fail not to start up, keeping their 
appointed ranks in resolute defiance of all the ar- 
tillery of winter. Far less elegant than the snow- 
drop, the CROCUS yet possesses a sprightly grace 
peculiar to itself. The former seems to endure 
adversity ; the latter to laugh at it. 1 allude to the 



176 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

bright yellow species, shedding a mimic sunshine 
upon beds of snow : there are others of the family- 
more sober in aspect; looking tranquilly content 
in the spot where they have been placed ; and, un- 
der all attendant circumstances, placidly cheerful. 
They seem to say, ' It is but for a little while ; 

The storm of wintry time shall quickly pass, 

and we will not murmur that we at present feel 
their severity.' 

The yellow crocus was my favourite in very 
early years ; but a small portion of experience 
sufficed to transfer my preference to its purple 
brother : and to it is attached a particular train of 
thought, now connecting in my mind its lowly sta- 
tion, and its quiet hue, with the memory of a 
humble, yet most vigorous and happy Christian, 
who, just as the earliest crocus was peeping forth 
in my garden, received his summons to depart and 
be with Christ. 

He was an aged man ; the inmate of an alms- 
house ; situated, happily for him, on the confines 
of a church-yard. When first I knew him, he 
was drawing spiritual nourishment from the minis- 
trations of a pastor whom he most dearly loved ; 
and who seemed to have been commissioned to 
hold a temporary charge in that parish, for the 
pirrpose, among many others, of more brightly 
trimming the lamp of old B, At our frequent 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 177 

meetings in the spacious school-room, just by his 
cottage, how rejoicingly did the venerable behever 
listen to his pastor's exhortation — how devoutly did 
he fall down before the Lord, in fervent prayer — 
and what a privilege was it reckoned, among the 
Christians near his usual seat, to assist his tremb- 
ling hands in turning over the leaves of the hymn- 
book : or to hold a candle near the page, assisting 
his dim sight, while his low, but distinct accents 
swelled the song of praise ! Often had I the 
delight of thus assisting him : and never shall I 
lose the remembrance of his bending figure and 
striking countenance. There was a singular in- 
tellectual character about the latter : his broad, 
full, lofty brow, and the fine expansion of his bald 
head, added to a really pleasing cast of features, 
never failed to arrest an observant eye ; and I have 
rarely noticed a manner so marked by perfect pro- 
priety, among those of his hlimble rank, who have 
been hailed as brethren beloved by men very much 
their superiors in worldly station. Old B. never 
aspired to rise above the level of a poor man in an 
almshouse ; nor did he ever sink below that of 
the conscious heir to an everlasting and glorious 
kingdom. 

After observing him at the prayer-meetings and 
the church, and ascertaining that my very favorable 
impressions were rather below than above what 
Lis character would justify, I one day met him in 



178 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

a little rural lane, carrying in his blue handkerchief 
some portion that had been given him from the 
larder of a rich person ; and kindly saluting him 
by name, I asked, ' Are you travelling the safe and 
pleasant road, with the Lord Jesus Christ for 
company V He looked at me, the tremor of his 
frame increasing greatly from emotion, and quietly 
answered, ' I hope I am, lady, I hope I am : and 
so are you ;' and then, after a short pause, he 
rather abruptly resumed, ' I have been thinking 
that we don't pray enough ; we should pray for all 
— especially for the Lord's people. We should 
pray particularly for those God loves — don't you 
think so V I readily assented, and he continued ; 
* And for the wicked : there would not be so much 
wickedness in the world, if we prayed as we 
ought. God hears prayer : he hears my prayers 
— and if I do not pray, I sin against him. But 
particularly for the Lord's people — for praying 
people,' — and with a respectful bow he went on, 
evidently pursuing the same train of thought, 
which had not been interrupted by my unexpected 
address. 

After this, we never met without a cordial greet 
ing ; and on one occasion I saw him, when return- 
ing from a scene to me most precious. A poor 
Romanist who had, under the power of the gospel, 
declared in his own native Irish, renounced all his 
fearful errors, and become a simple believer in 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 179 

Christ, was soon afterwards called away to ' see 
whom unseen he adored,' It was quite a relief to 
my full heart to descry old B. feebly advancing 
along my road : I flew to him, and told him the 
glad tidings, that the poor man had died most hap- 
py in his Saviour. He lifted his hands and eyes, 
in solemn fervour, ejaculating, ' How gracious He 
is ! a soul is precious :' and went on his way re- 
joicing, in broken phrases, with a joy so calm and 
beautiful that it redoubled the gladness of my 
heart. 

But a trial was in store for old B. which had 
this alleviation, that every Christian in the place 
largely participated in his sorroAV. The Pastor so 
dear to him and to us was about to leave a sphere 
of labour where God had most signally blessed his 
work : and I never, during the sad weeks that in- 
tervened between the announcement of this event 
and its occurrence, met old B. that he did not lay 
hold on my wrist to support him, under excessive 
tremor, and weep, while he uttered his lamenta- 
tions. The flock over whom our pastor had pre- 
sided, presented him with an elegant and costly 
token of their grateful affections: it was altogether 
spontaneous ; and meant to be confined to the 
more affluent : but there was no resisting the tears 
of the poor, as they proffered their shillings or six- 
pences ; and old B. was among the first to lay 
down his offering. It was beautiful to witness the 



180 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

Strength of his attachment ; esteeming very highly 
in love for his work's sake the ambassador of 
Christ, who had delivered many a sweetly encour- 
ageing message to his soul : yet it was the Lord's 
will to permit the afflictive loss, and he strove after 
submission. But never, from that period, did he 
meet me without grasping my arm, and sorrowfully 
adverting to our bereavement. 

But the summons came at last ; and after a few 
days of suffering, I was told that his end drew 
nigh. Wishing once more to receive his patriar- 
chal blessing, I repaired to his alms-house, accom- 
panied by the same valued pastor, — who had never 
relinquished the intercourse of Christian brother- 
hood with this endeared member of his former 
flock — and also by one whose hoary head being 
found in the way of righteousness, wore a far 
brighter crown of glory than the coronet that told 
of his rank among the nobles of the land. Oh, 
how beautiful it was to see the peer and the pau- 
per, both of very advanced age, looking together 
into an eternity that was to irradiate both with 
light and joy ! One, sweetly sinking into the 
grave, like a shock of corn fully ripe for the gar 
ner, and the other, with a heavier weight of years, 
and an added weight of worldly wealth and honours 
to oppress him, alert, hale, vigorous, and running 
with patience and joy the race set before him ! As 
the snowy locks of one drooped over the humble form 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 181 

of his expiring brother, what could I compare him 
to, but the towering acacia, bending its flowering 
branches, more graceful in humility from their natu- 
ral elevation ; and while the lowly man, from his poor 
Dut clean pillow looked up to the countenance of his 
beloved pastor, catching every sound that issued from 
his lips, as a gracious message from the Lord his 
God — then turned his dim eyes to acknowledge the 
gentle words of encouragement added by the un- 
known, but noble and venerable stranger, who 
cheered him with the breathings of his own spirit 
in the same delightful theme — what was old B. 
but the antitype of my purple crocus, looking forth 
from its unadorned resting-place through the 
cloudy dispensations of a winter's day, to catch the 
sunbeam from afar, and to prove to every beholder 
that, in spite of adverse seasons, or any combina- 
tion of untoward circumstances, God's tender mer- 
cies are over all his works. 

I received the old man's blessing, and left his 
peaceful abode, to ramble wide and long amid the 
chastened beauties of a shining winter's day. My 
thoughts were very sad : T knew that, notwith- 
standing the frequent benefactions of those around 
him, old B. had suffered much from poverty. His 
little room contained a box well stored with money, 
collected by him for the missionary work ; but his 
own possessions were scanty indeed. He was not 
without claims of kindred, which, with his tender 
16 



182 THE PURPLE CROCUS. 

and loving spirit, induced a course of strict self- 
denial, that he might minister to the temporal 
wants of others. Many a little gift, both of money 
and clothing, only came into his possession to be 
immediately transferred to those who occupied his 
anxious thoughts. Living in an alms-house, he 
was rich in alms-deeds. Himself supported by 
charity, his charitable works to others had no 
bounds but those of his limited means. I knew 
that he often shivered in the wintry blast, after 
having assisted to clothe those who could not help 
themselves : and I felt a pang, that was only to be 
soothed by stedfastly looking to the inheritance 
upon which I knew he was soon to enter : had I 
known that he would be with his Lord in so few 
hours as actually did intervene, I should have ex- 
perienced more unmingled joy. 

I could not but feel greatly depressed, in com- 
paring my own opportunities, and the use made of 
them, with those of the aged pauper. I longed 
for a portion of his self-denying zeal, in every 
good work : and I realized, in a peculiar manner, 
the sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost, as mani- 
fested in the poor of this world, rich in faith, and 
heirs of the kingdom. In them, it shines out with 
a lustre not to be mistaken — they are epistles of 
Christ, known and read of all men. " Blessed are 
ye, poor," was continually in my mind : and happy 
it is, thought I, as I looked on my two compan 



THE PURPLE CROCUS. 183 

ions, happy it is that the blessedness embraces the 
poor in spirit also — that, though not many, yet 
some rich, some wise, some noble are called, and 
made partakers of the like precious faith. Exter- 
nal things never appeared to me so valueless, nor 
eternal things more important. Who would not 
inhabit the pauper's dwelling, subsist by labour, or 
on charity, through life, and owe at last a coffin 
and a grave to the hand of casual bounty, so that 
he might but * read his title clear to mansions in 
the skies.' Who would be trusted with wealth, or 
be surrounded by pleasurable allurements, calcula- 
ted to steal away his heart from God ? Oh, it is a 
mighty power put forth by Omnipotence itself, that 
raises the base, and brings down the lofty to the 
same safe level ! The work is marvellous, worthy 
to be had in daily and hourly remembrance, that 
takes away the stony heart out of our flesh, and 
gives us a heart of flesh. Behold a mixed multi- 
tude, in any given place, not set apart for uses de- 
cidedly sinful, or exclusively spiritual, but where 
the denizens of the district are thrown together, and 
consider the awful line of demarcation which sep- 
arates them into two companies, — however in man's 
sight they are blended in one — distinct as heaven and 
hell. A full acquaintance with the private history and 
experience of each, would show that the operations 
of sovereign grace are totally irrespective of every na- 
tural or incidental distinction , It would prove, beyond 



184 THE PURPLE COJlcrS. 

controversy, that those who are lost perish by their 
own wilful act ; while such as are saved escape 
the same fearful doom by an act of unsought mer- 
cy — free and as unsearchable as that which brings 
the crocus from the frozen ground, and bids it 
bloom, in vigorous life, amid the dark, cold world 
of leafless trees, and the torpor of suspended vege- 
tation. 



CHAPTER XV. 



THE HYACINTH. 



Has any person ever seen a vulgar-looking flower ? 
It is CListonnary, I know, to call weeds vulgar; but 
that is an idle distinction, not admissible by any 
florist, to say nothing of botanists ; because some 
of the most exquisitely elegant of the race are 
trodden under our feet on the heaths, and plucked 
by children from the way-side hedge-row. Is the 
daisy vulgar '( no, that " wee, modest, crimson-tip- 
ped flower" has been sung into importance. Is 
the poppy ? Why, if the common single species, 
that waves its loose petals among our corn, were 
introduced as a rare exotic, crowds would press to 
examine and to eulogize the depth of its splendid 
tint, with the singular mixture of jet black, so rare 
among the flowers. The dandelion, scornfully ex- 
pelled from our gardens, is a minature sun, with 
its radiating petals of bright gold : and thus 
through every family of every tribe may be traced 
the workings of a skill that cannot be ungraceful. 
However, I willingly admit that some flowers 
16* 



186 THE HY-.iCINTH. 

are pre-eminent in elegance of structure, casting 
many others into comparative shade ; and if I pre- 
■^er, on a ver}^ uncongenial day in Febuary, to re- 
main within doors, and solace myself with the 
small garden that my stand exhibits, and what I 
l)ave forced into bloom before they could have 
reared their heads above the surface of the frozen 
ground, I have a proof before me, that, among the 
native productions of our soil (and I deal with no 
other in these pages,) there are some that, for 
beauty of form and colouring, and richness of per- 
fume, may vie with the proudest offspring of war- 
mer latitudes. Behold the glass that adorns my 
mantle-piece, and tell me where to look for a love- 
lier flowret than the tall, rich, double hyadnth that 
shoots from it in a living plume ? I have watched 
its progress, from the first putting forth of those 
delicate suckers, whereby the watery nutriment is 
drawn up to the roots, until every white petal had 
unfolded, streaked with a warmer tint of rose-col- 
our; and the whole flower stood arrayed in the 
majestic grace which now clothes it. 

There are few positions more favourable to a 
prolonged reverie than that which I rarely indulge 
in — a seat just opposite the fire, when a cloudy day 
is about to close, and prudence recommends a short 
season of perfect idleness, after an early dinner, to 
avoid the head-ache, that might, by too sudden a 
return to study, be induced : verifying the home 



THE HYACINTH. 187 

saying, ' more haste than good speed.' My morn- 
ing's reading, too, has been of a character that re- 
quires digestion : that paragon of memoriahsts, 
John Foxe, has spread its mighty folio to my gaze ; 
and in the fire that burns before me, I can fancy 
the forms of heroic sufferers, chained to the stake, 
and mouldering away amid devouring flames. I 
loved John Foxe dearly, before I could well sup- 
port one of his ponderous volumes : and many a 
time my little heart has throbbed almost to burst- 
ing, when, having deposited the book in a chair, 
and opened its venerable leaves, I leant upon the 
page, to pore over the narrative of some godly 
martyr. Especially did I love to read of Latimer 
and Ridley — those twins, born into the kingdom of 
glory together. At the age of seven years I made 
acquaintance with the beloved martyrologist ; and 
great cause have I to be thankful for the impres- 
sions then left upon my infant mind. Facts are 
stubborn things ; and I have found the record of 
those facts a valuable safeguard against attempts 
that were made to undermine my protestantism, 
before I was sufficiently grounded in the faith of 
the gospel to oppose them with the invincible 
shield. 

* But why dwell on such themes now ? The 
days of martyrdom have long since passed away. 
In England, at least, we know nothing of the 
kind.' 



188 THE HYACINTH. 

True, so far as regards the open violence that 
could take away a man's life, under the sanctions 
of civil and ecclesiastical law : but do you believe 
that the spirit of popery is, in our day, one whit 
changed from what it was, when Smithfield kin- 
dled her faggots, to send the souls of God's people 
in fiery chariots to heaven ? No ! it is the deep 
device of the papacy to wrap its thunders in a 
cloud that none can penetrate — watching for a 
season that, by the infinite mercy of God, is yet 
retarded, when they may again be hurled, with 
blighting fury, upon the land that shall lie expos- 
ed to their bolts. 

I have been marveUing at the rapid change 
wrought since I placed that root in the glass ; a 
shapeless, unpromising thing, now arrayed in re- 
splendent loveliness, rewarding a thousand-fold 
the care bestowed upon its culture. I can find a 
parallel most touchingly true ; and I will narrate 
the story, with the strictest adherence to simple, 
imadorned fact : not disguising time, or place. 
May the tale sink deep into the hearts of my rea- 
ders ! 

It is pretty generally known that, in the year 
1830, through the blessing of God on the efforts 
of a few Christian friends, a chapel was opened at 
Seven Dials, in London, where the Liturgy of our 
Church is used, and the pure gospel is preached 
in the Irish language. Such an assault upon the 



THE HYACINTH. 189 

enemy, in the very heart oi one of his strongest 
holds, could not but lead to great excitement ; per- 
secution, carried to the utmost extent short of mur- 
der, was the certain lot of those poor victims of 
popery who dared to inquire what they should do 
to be saved, and join the congregation of the zeal- 
ous servant of God, who had left some comfortable 
preferment in his native land, to assume the office 
of a missionary among his wretched countrymen 
here. Many were, however, found to encounter 
the worst that man could do, rather than forego the 
word, the sweetness of which they had once been 
brought to taste : and to this hour, a little flock is 
regularly assembling, who, having cast away the 
trammels of popish delusion, are able, even in the 
extremity of wretchedness and want, to rejoice in 
Christ as their only and all-sufficient Saviour. 

It was in the spring of 1831, that a Scripture- 
reader, attached to the Irish church and school, 
was visited one evening by a young countryman, 
who requested his assistance in penning a memo- 
rial or petition, by which he hoped to obtain some 
employment. It appeared that he was a most ex- 
travagant and dissipated character, who had, through 
his own vicious conduct, forfeited every advantage 
that he acquired. Still, being ' a good CatlioliCy 
all was right with him ; and the sins for which, 
with sixpence, he could any day purchase absolu- 
tion, never gave him a moment's concern. 



190 THE HYACINTH. 

The Reader willingly wrote out his petition, for 
Doghery was a better scholar in his native Irish 
than in the English tongue ; and while he was so 
employed, the young man took up the book which 
the other had been reading — a book that I had given 
him, containing some controversial tracts on the 
leading errors of Popery. 

When the letter was completed. Doghery ex- 
claimed, ' This book must be false, for it contra- 
dicts my church ? here is the presence of Christ 
in the sacrament of the mass denied. Why do 
you read sucli books ?' 

'■ Because,' answered the other, ' they shew me 
the errors of the church to which I also once be- 
longed.' 

A very animated discussion ensued, which lasted 
till after midnight ; while Doghery contended for 
the orthodoxy of his church, with equal spirit and^ 
ingenuity. The next day he returned with an an- 
xious countenance : and on the Reader inquiring 
the fate of his petition, he replied, he did not come 
about that ; but to renew their discourse concern- 
ing the book. ' For,' said he, * you deny the power 
of my church to forgive sins ; and if that be the 
case I am in a bad way.' Again was the point 
brought to the test of Scripture ; and Doghery 
went away, deeply impressed, to return on the fol- 
lowing day, more troubled than before, while he 
frankly acknowledged that he could no longer place 



THE HYACINTH. 191 

any confidence in that which had always appeared 
to him an infalHble guide to heaven. 

' What am I to do V was his anxious inquiry. 
The Reader told him, that if he would accompany 
him to the Irish Church, where service was per- 
formed on the Wednesday evening, he might hear 
something in his own tongue that should give him 
more light. 

Unacquainted with the circumstances, the pastor 
addressed his little flock on the parable of the pro- 
digal son, expounding it as he proceeded. On ar- 
riving at the passage — " Put a ring on his finger, 
and shoes on his feet," he explained the latter by 
a reference to Eph. vi. " having your feet shod 
with the preparation of the gospel of peace," and 
dwelt on the difficulties that the Christian must 
surmount, or pass over, which required, at every 
step, such defence as Christ alone can furnish to 
the feet of his saints. At this period of the dis- 
course, Doghery trembled exceedingly, and looked 
down at his feet. The Reader asked the reason of 
his emotion: ' Look,' he replied, 'at my broken 
shoes — I could never travel a stony road in them : 
my soul is in a worse condition than my shoes i 
how then can I travel that difficult path to heaven ? 
And see, my shoes are so far gone, that nobody 
can ever make them good for any thing now : my 
soul is worse — Oh, who shall mend that !" The 
Reader was so struck by this singular application 



192 THE HYACINTH. 

of the subject to his own case, that he took him to 
the vestry, and introduced him to the zealous 
preacher, who spoke very impressively to him, and 
gave him a bible. 

On that very evening, the minister of the Irish 
church repeated this to me : and Doghery became 
the subject of our especial prayers. 

From the time of receiving the bible, he studied 
it daily — hourly. A change most striking came 
over his whole aspect and character. His memo- 
rable petition had succeeded, so that he got a place 
as porter in an apothecary's establishment : and he 
who never before could remain sober for two or 
three days, and was sure to loose every situation 
within a week, was now so temperate, so faithful, 
so diligent, so steady, that he won the perfect con- 
fidence of his employers. Still, being an out-door 
servant, and having a little motherless girl to sup- 
port, at nurse, he was unable to afford himself the 
means to remove from his wretched lodging to one 
less miserable. He occupied a corner in a dense- 
ly inhabited court, near Covent Garden, surround- 
ed by the most bigotted of his unhappy country- 
men, w^ho made Doghery and his heretic bible the 
objects of their fiercest animosity. However, the 
Lord helped him to make a good confession, in 
meekness and love, even here : and after a proper 
season of probation, Doghery was admitted a com 
municant at the Lord's table in the beloved Irish 



THE HYACINTH. 193 

church. There, the cup of blessing, which his 
crafty priests withheld from him, was put into his 
hand ; and with what effect may be gathered from 
an incident that his dear pastor repeated to me. 
He went to visit a poor sick Irishman, in one of 
the dens of St. Giles', and found Doghery seated 
by his bedside, reading the word of God to him. 
Mr. B. said ' I rejoice to find you sensible of the 
preciousness of that sacred book.' Doghery re- 
phed, *I hope I am, sir; I feel much when I read 
the scriptures here ; I feel much when you preach 
to me in the church ; but when you gave me the 
bread of life, in the holy sacrament, I feel, oh. 
then I did feel, indeed !' — ' How did you feel, my 
poor fellow V He looked up, with eyes that sparkled 
brightly, and answered, w^th great energy, ' Sir, I 
felt that it was the marriage ceremony, which uni- 
ted my soul to my Saviour for ever.' 

On the Saturday following' this, he went to his 
old friend the reader, and said, ' I have many trials 
at home : they never allow me to sleep, for curs- 
ing me and blaspheming. They insist on my giv- 
ing up my bible, or else they will have my blood. 
My blood they may have,' he added, with earnest- 
ness, 'but this book none shall take from me. It 
is more precious than my life.' He then related 
how he was accustomed to answer their menaces 
and revilings, by reading or repeating to them the 
blessed truths by which he was made wise unVj 
17 



194 THE HYACINTH. 

salvation. He told the reader, that he must go on 
the morrow to see his child, at Finchley common ; 
and, therefore, could not attend church till the eve^ 
ning, and he continued searching the scriptures 
with him until a very late hour, expressing the joy 
and peace he felt in believing. 

At seven o'clock next morning he was obliged to 
go out with medicines, to his master's patients ; 
between nine and ten, he went to eat his breakfast 
in his comfortless home. Here he was most 
fiercely assailed, on the two points that they con- 
stantly insisted on — to give up his bible, and to go 
to mass. Doghery refused : they attacked him, and 
struck him, but he only entreated their forbearance : 
he raised not his hand, except to ward off some of 
their blows — in ten minutes he was pitched out 
into the street, a mangled corpse — his head and 
side both laid open by blows from a plasterer's 
shovel ; one arm and several ribs broken : and all 
ihe upper part of his body black with bruises. 
The poor Irishman had sealed with his blood the 
t3stimony of that truth which he held: he had 
joined the noble army of martyrs, and entered into 
the joy of his Lord. 

Many a tear have I shed over the leaves of 
Doghery's little bible, as I marked the print of his 
soiled fingers in those pages which he loved to 
ponder upon. The Gospel and Epistles of St. 
John, and that of St. Paul to the Hebrews, bore 



THE HYACINTH. 195 

evident traces of frequent and protracted study : 
there he had found encouragement to pursue his 
new and blessed path, until, through the blood of 
Christ, he had grace given him to shed his own. 
He was faithful unto death : and the Lord delayed 
not to give him a crown of life. 

It may be said, this was the act of a savage 
mob, and ought not to be charged upon the reli- 
gion that they so igiiorantly profess : but, a very 
short time afterwards, a clergyman connected with 
the friends who supported the Irish chapel, was 
met by the regular, the educated, the recognized 
Roman Catholic parish priest, of a populous dis- 
trict, in another part of London, who, adverting to 
the murder, coolly said, there loould he more of 
them, if the Irish preaching and scripture reading 
was not discontinued : while placards were fixed 
opposite the chapel, menacing those who attended 
it with Doghery's fate. 

What shall we say to these things ? shall we 
permit our souls to be blinded, and our hearts har- 
dened, against the dreadful evils of this unholy 
system ? It is the device of popery to keep her 
votaries in perfect subjection, by the same arts that 
she uses to lull their souls in the most profound 
repose of secure iniquity. By means of her 
priestly absolution, she affects to wipe off the old 
score of sins, committed since last the nominal 
penitent knelt at the confessional ; and sends him 



196 THE HYACINTH. 

forth to commence a new arrear, with perfect as- 
surance that by the same process that too shall be 
made to pass away. Thus is the conscience sear- 
ed, and the sinner deluded ; as was poor Doghery, 
until, through the faithful testimony borne without 
reserve against his darling errors, he was led to 
feel his dreadful peril, while walking along a bridge 
of straw, over a gulph of ascending flames. And 
this is the case with every member of the church 
of Rome, high and low, rich and poor. Thus are 
we guilty concerning our brethren, if we fail to set 
before them the peril in which they stand. The 
wild fanatics who murdered Doghery, were less 
guilty than we, if we hold our peace, when oppor- 
tunity is given to plead with a member of that 
an ti- Christian church. They acted up to the spirit 
of the religion that they professed ; we do not. 
They killed his body ; but in so doing sent his 
soul to glory : we study the ease of our own bo 
dies, and to retain the mistaken good-will of our 
neighbours, at the fearful price of accelerating 
their pace to everlasting destruction. I say accel- 
erating ; for if we, calling ourselves Protestants, 
withhold the PROTEST, which by that very 
name, we are pledged to make, what must their 
inference be, but that we are not of the same mind 
with our fathers, who yielded their bodies to the 
flames, rather than even feign a tacit acquiescence 
in the fearful delusions of others ? They see us 



THE HYACINTH. 197 

banding for the zealous promotion of missionary 
labours, of which the avowed object is to put down 
the idolatry of heathen lands ; and can they be- 
lieve that we really consider them idolaters, while, 
with every facility of daily intercourse, we speak 
not a warning word to save their souls ? 

Alas for the desolation of popery, that is rapidly 
spreading over our country ! We despise the little 
cloud, no larger than a man's hand, nor believe 
that ere long the heavens shall be black, and the 
earth deluged, with the abundance of that plague 
which w^e care not to arrest in its early progress. 
Far different is the view taken by the promoters 
of Rome's deadly apostacy : they know the value 
of every foot of land that their multiplying temples 
over-shadow, and of every deluded soul that they 
ensnare with the net which is now spread in almost 
all our Enghsh villages. The land, which is as 
the garden of Eden before them, they will convert 
to a howling wilderness, if the Lord revive not in 
us somewhat of the spirit that dwelt in his confes- 
sors of old. 

How awful are the descriptions given in the 
word of God, of this predicted apostacy — how 
fearful the denunciations thundered forth on its 
upholders ! Can we read them, and not desire to 
become instrumental in the work of delivering our 
fellow-sinners from such a snare ? Never in the 
annals of creation did a power so fierce, so pitiless, 
17* 



198 THE HYACINTH. 

SO sanguinary as that of popery, appear to deface 
the beauty of God's works : none stand exposed 
to visitations so trenaendous as He has denounced 
against it. We must turn to the martyrology of 
the Piedmontese Valleys, and to our army, in the 
days of Mary, to nerve us for the perusal of those 
vivid descriptions in the book of Revelation, where 
the smoke of the eternal torment of great Babylon, 
ascending to heaven, is said to call forth new songs 
of praise and triumph from the spirits in glory. 
We must explore the records of Spanish atrocity 
in the newly discovered western hemisphere, and 
dive into the dungeons of the eastern inquisition ; 
we must open the blood-stained page of a Parisian 
St. Bartholomew, and then turn a stedfast eye to 
the green shores of poor Ireland, tracing to their 
true source the wretchedness, the recklessness, the 
crimes of her priest-ridden peasantry. We must 
consider how the Lord is insulted, His truth blas- 
phemed, His word anathematized, His great name 
prostituted to the upholding of that which he de 
clares an abomination, while His glory is given to 
another, and his praise to molten images. Yes, 
we must survey the curse, in its height, and depth, 
and length, and breadth, in its various manifesta- 
tions through twelve hundred years of violence 
and wrong, in order to impress our minds with the 
duty that we owe to our wretched fellow-creatures, 



THE HYACINTH. 199 

yet lying under the condemnation of this idolatrous 
iniquity. 

It was predicted of our blessed Lord, that he 
should " grow up as a tender plant," and as he 
was, so are his people in this world. To be born 
under a dispensation of pure gospel light, and un- 
clouded truth, to sit every one under his own vine, 
and his own fig-tree, with none to make us afraid 
— oh, we do not properly estimate the value of 
such distinguishing privileges. Ow~ sons grow up 
like young plants indeed ; but it is out of a rich, a 
watered, a well-tempered soil, where morning 
sunbeams play, and evening dews bring gentle re- 
freshment ; where the hand of culture directs their 
growth ; and the guarded fence repels every 
prowling foe. How different is the case of him 
who, having been reared in the hot-bed of super- 
stition, is taken thence, and received into the shel- 
ter of the true church of Christ, while the storms 
of vindictive rage howl around, longing to blight 
the early promise of his growth, and to visit him 
with swift destruction. 

I should sorrow to see my beautiful hyacinth 
taken from its warm station, and placed abroad, 
on this chilly evening, to shrink before the biting 
frost, to bend beneath the blustering wind, and to 
break under a load of drifted snow. If the flower 
could reason, might it not well reproach me, under 
the circumstances, for hastening its birth into such 



SOO THE HYACINTH. 

a wintry world ? Yet, alas ; poor Doghery, and 
many a poor creature like him, could tell a tale of 
similar desertion, ending in the destruction of the 
body. The fault rests not with those who take 
compassion on the perishing victims of popery. 
We must often say with the apostle, " Silver and 
gold have I none," but, shall we not proceed to 
add, '' such as I have, give I thee ;" and while we 
behold the immortal spirit lying helpless under the 
deadening influence of his paralizing disease, are 
we to refrain from the sequel, " In the name of 
Jesus of Nazareth arise and walk," because the 
alms that depended on the continuance of his in- 
firmity may then fail ; and we may be unable to 
provide him with an immediate subsistence ? 
Even in a temporal visitation, this would be cruel 
policy ; how then can we dare to act upon it in 
spiritual cases ? No ; we must proclaim deliver- 
ance to the captives, though, from lack of service 
on the part of those who gave the means, we 
thereby expose them to starvation, if they escape 
a more immediate and more violent end. 

It is certain, that when one of the poor of this 
world becomes so rich in faith as to be enabled to 
sacrifice all for Christ, by openly separating from 
the communion of idolatrous Rome, the means of 
daily subsistence will fail, so long as he continues 
among the people whom his poverty precludes him 
from leaving. The great mass of Irish poor, in 



THE HYACINTH. 201 

St. Giles' and the other districts, are composed of 
brick-layers' labourers ; and it is a fact, that when 
one of the number forsakes his false religion, he 
cannot mount a scaffolding but at the eminent 
peril of his life ; for his comrades threaten to hurl 
him headlong if he comes among them. Thus he 
is driven from his daily labour ; and is, moreover, 
followed through the streets with yells and execra- 
tions, accompanied, generally, with some actual 
violence. I speak from personal observation — I 
testify what I have seen from day to day ; and I 
cannot but ask, is the Protestantism of our favoured 
land fallen so low, that we cannot provide means 
of employment to those who, for Christ's sake and 
the gospel's, relinquish tlie daily pittance that was 
wont to furnish them with a meal of potatoes? 
When our adored Redeemer spoke the words of 
life to thousands of perishing souls, how sweetly 
did he express the tender feeling of their bodily 
infirmities wherewith he was touched — " I have 
compassion on the multitude ; ... if I send them 
away fasting, they will faint by the way." 

Well, Doghery hungers no more, neither thirsts 
any more ; he has joined the glorious host of 
martyrs, and his blood has truly been a seed in 
our Irish church, emboldening many to come out 
openly from the shambles of Great Babylon into 
the pastures of Christ's fold. Oh ! when shall 
arrive that predicted day of divine retribution, that 



202 THE HYACINTH. 

will break " the hammer of the whole earth ! 
When the Alvas and the Dominicks, the Bonners, 
the Gardiners, with all the host of sanguinary- 
tyrants who have trafficked in the souls of men, 
shall receive at the Lord's hand the cup of retribu 
tion, and perish, with that desperate delusion, that 
offspring of Satan, which the Holy Ghost had 
denounced as the mother of abominations — the 
woman drunk with the blood of the saints, and 
with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus ! This 
is not the language of uncharitableness — no : the 
farthest possible from true charity is that ungodly 
liberalism v^^hich will close its eyes to the plainest 
declarations of holy writ, and leave men's souls to 
perish, rather than shock their prejudices. God 
will not alter the thing that is gone out of his lips ; 
and unless we can expunge from the thirteenth to 
the twentieth chapter of Revelation, or close our 
eyes to the clear and indubitable exposition which 
history supplies, of its actual reference to the pa- 
pacy, we stand guilty of wilful mutilation of God's 
word, while withholding those awful appeals from 
our deluded fellow-creatures of the Romish per- 
suasion, and neglecting to address to them the 
warning cry, *' Come out of her, my people : be 
ye not partakers of her sins, that ye receive not 
of her plagues." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



THE HEART S-EASE. 



There are some objects that all the world is agreed 
in admiring, or professing to admire. Those who 
have taste and feeling, experience exquisite delight 
in surveying such objects ; and people who have 
neither, would not expose their deficiency by ac- 
knowledging that these things have no charm for 
them. Thus, an April sky, with its flitting clouds, 
and glancing sunbeams, and evanescent rainbow, is 
by common consent, most lovely. Some, to be sure, 
there are, who consider all the enjoyment derivable 
from the contemplation, to be a very poor equiva- 
lent for the spoiling of a ribband, or the splashing 
of a gown ; but they rarely venture to proclaim 
their dissent from the general agreement. This 
being the case, all descriptive, all sentimental 
writers, and indeed all who handle any other than 
the driest matter-of-fact subjects, are to be found 
tendering their quota of admiration, in every vari- 
ety of style and phrase. To elicit any thing new, 
on such a hackneyed topic, is, perhaps impossible : 
but as I do not aim at originality— -merely wishing 



204 THE heart's-ease. 

to indulge in the pursuit of a few thoughts that 
form the rainbow of my rather cloudy sky — I shall 
continue to think upon paper; unshackled by any 
apprehension of the censure that is, doubtless, 
often provoked by my lucubrations — * How very 
common-place !' 

T sally forth into the garden, on a very unprom- 
ising morning. The whole concave is overcast 
with clouds : they hang low, portending a dark 
and cheerless day. I see not even a probability 
of rain, which might clear the expanse, and give 
us the desired prospect of an azure heaven beyond ; 
but there is every sign of continued gloom — clouds 
that appear disposed neither to pass on nor to fall, 
maintaining a position of sullen quiescence, the 
most discouraging ; while the httle flowers beneath, 
looked as grave and as cheerless as flowers can 
look, and the general effect on my mind is that of 
chilled and saddening feeling. Presently, there is 
a perceptible movement of the dull mass — a thin- 
ning of the cloud in some particular spot, as though 
it was drawn upwards, and comparative transpa- 
rency ensues. I watch, until an opening is effect- 
ed, and a Httle, — a very little spec of clear blue 
sky becomes visible beyond the separating edges. 
A gladdening sight ! for, then, I confidently anti- 
cipate, that, in another quarter, the same process 
will ere long, afford a farther glimpse of what I 
desire to see. Another does appear, and another ; 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 205 

the whole company of congregated vapours is 
breaking up, not borne along in a body, leaving all 
bright behind their course, but dispersing gradual- 
ly, here and there, until the several patches of soft 
blue seem to enlarge, and combine to establish the 
reign of light over darkness. And, lo ! the sun 
breaks forth, the shadow^s flee aw^ay, the flowers 
look up in laughing gladness, and every little bird 
contributes his individual chirp of gralulating joy. 
What, on earth, have we to resemble this ! 
Something, whereof I consider it a most beautiftd 
type. I have seen families as destitute of gospel 
light, as closely wrapped in spiritual gloom, ay, 
and as contentedly immoveable, in their darkness, 
as the discouraging morning that I have endeav- 
oured to pourtray. I have gone forth and looked 
upon them, as Ezekiel upon the dry bones in the 
valley, obliged to confess indeed, that the Lord 
could work among them, but beholding no token 
that such was as yet his will. Then, shaming my 
unbelief, the light that shined upon a solitary indi- 
vidual, opening, as it were, one spec in the cloud- 
ed sky ; and then I have looked, and longed, and 
confidently trusted, that farther manifestations 
would appear. Another of the household has 
yielded to divine influence ; perchance a third : 
iind these, with united supplication, walking to- 
gether as children of light, have been enabled to 
wage a powerful, though comparatively silent war, 
18 



206 THE heart's-ease. 

upon the remaining darkness. The work goes on; 
reflected brightness shines upon the rest ; and at 
last the Lord puts on his glorious apparel, takes 
unto himself his great power, breaks forth in the 
dazzling brilliancy of acknowledged glory, and 
reigns over a household of willing conquests. 

How lovely is the sympathy displayed by the 
expanded world beneath, when this fair work is 
accomplished in the brightening atmosphere above ! 
Not a shrub, not a blossom, or a leaf, but seems 
to rejoice, when the liberated day-beam shines 
upon it ; and gladness yet more intelligibly ex- 
pressed, fills the animal creation. It is not long 
since, looking around for some particular flower, 
whereon to mark the vivifying effects of these 
outbursting rays, I was struck to perceive on the 
bank beside me, only one flower in bloom ; and 
that was a single solitary child of my prolific 
family the Heart's-Ease. 'No,' thought T, as 1 
turned reluctantly away, ' no, I must not bring you 
a third time into my chapters.' But when I stole 
another glance, and saw the little cheerful blossom 
uplifting its modest face to rejoice in the sunshine, 
I could not forego the almost inexhaustible source 
of pure delight afforded me in the retrospection. 
With such a train of thought awakened in my 
mind, it seemed that none could so meetly claim 
the notice I was prepared to bestow ; and that 
peculiar characteristic of D., which shewed him 



THE heart's-ease. 207 

altogether identified, as it were, with those engaged 
in spiritual conflict, or crowned with spiritual vic- 
tory, exactly answers to the picture that my imagi- 
nation had drawn, of perfect sympathy with the 
effect produced by the day-beam on that cheerless 
sky — cheerless no longer. 

It is, no doubt, a delicate and a difficult subject ; 
the manner in which the Lord works in families. 
Some, who are not strongly opposed to divine 
truth, while their hearts remain untouched by con- 
verting grace, do unquestionably build a treacher- 
ous hope for themselves, founded on the religion 
of others. They regard their pious connexion in 
the light of mediators, calculating on their prayers 
to help them out in the last extremity ; and believ- 
ing that, for the sake of such, his faithful servants, 
God will have mercy on them also. I am often 
afraid, by saying too much on the blessedness of 
beholding the good leaven even partially introduc- 
ed, to foster this perilous error : but so enumerable 
are the cases where I witness the rapid extension 
of divine knowledge, in families where but one 
has been first enlightened, that I cannot refrain 
from trying to speak words of cheer to those who 
are praying and watching for the souls of their 
dearest connexions. Our views of God's mercy, 
his power, and willingness to save, are most 
wretchedly, most insultingly low ; and where that 
awful doctrine which represents him as having 



208 THE HE art's -EASE. 

fore-ordained the condemnation of some souls, 
creeps in, to paralyze the mighty arm of energetic 
faith, and to cripple the strong pinion of soaring 
hope, we are tempted to do bitter wrong to the 
souls of our brethren, no less than to the faithful- 
ness of our unchangeable God. Many an earnest 
and solemn discourse have I had with D. upon 
these points ; and I cannot forget the patient en- 
durance, the affectionate anxiety, with which I 
have seen him for hours engaged in combatting 
the delusions of one who had imbibed such notions. 
It gave him pain, even to hear it urged, that an 
actual decree had gone forth, willing, from all 
eternity, the everlasting perdition of individuals 
hereafter to be born into the world. It grieved 
him, even to the suffusion of his eyes with tears, 
that such a charge should be brought against his 
God, whose tender mercies he well knew to be 
over all his works ; and whose own immutable 
word assured him that he willeth not the death of 
a sinner. He dearly loved, by bright displays of 
inviting mercy, to set forth the freeness of pardon- 
ing grace, for the encouragement of such as are 
labouring to bring souls to God ; and more espe- 
cially those of their own household. He believed 
what he spoke ; he acted on his belief : and never 
did I witness a more sustained, persevering series 
of efforts, than I saw in him, on behalf of a young 
and endeared relation. That man, of his own free 



THE heart's-ease. 209 

will, could turn to God, and repent and believe, he 
spared not to denounce as most unscripturally 
false : that any mortal could achieve for another 
that mighty work, was equally far from his 
thought: but that God had barred the door of 
mercy against a single soul of all Adam's race, he 
knew to be irreconcilable with the distinct declara- 
tions of him who cannot lie. Hence he drew the 
sweetest encouragement for himself and others ; 
and hence would I gladly suggest a redoubling of 
prayerful exertion, on the part of those who may 
be faint, indeed, yet pursuing, in the cause of their 
unconverted friends. 

But there is a case, not unfrequently occurring, 
where individuals who have themselves been 
brought to Christ, see their hope, as respects 
some beloved connexion, apparently cut off, by a 
stroke that removes its object too suddenly to give 
time for that investigation vvhich his doubtful stale 
rendered particularly desirable. Oh, how bitter is 
the tear that flows over the coffin of a darling 
friend, concerning whom, there is, alas, but a 
* peradvenlure' to lay hold on ! Yet I have found 
such a visitation most profitable, in leading the mind 
to a review of past prayers, on behalf of that ob- 
ject, to an anxious scrutiny of answers to those 
prayers, which we, in our habitual disregard of 
the ' day of small things,' had before overlooked ; 
and to the exercise of keen self-condemnation, of 
18* 



210 THE HEARt's-EASE. 

deep and truly humbling penitence for the wanton 
neglect of many an appointed means, the careless 
disregard of many precious opportunities which, 
if rightly used by us, might materially have help- 
ed forward the work. Such remorseful regret, 
however vain in the particular case which is for 
ever beyond our reach, will lead, if it be indeed 
a godly sorrow, to the diligent use of similar ad- 
vantages, in regard to those who remain. This 
was a favourite topic with D., whose office it ap- 
peared to be to extract wisdom and instruction 
from every past occurrence, as a guide in present 
difficulty and a valuable store laid up for time to come. 
Never did I behold a more consistent, steady 
zeal, than he displayed for the extension of Christ's 
kingdom — first, in his own heart ; then in his own 
family, among his immediate associates, and the 
poor who were brought within his reach. It seem- 
ed to be his maxim, that our missionary efforts, like 
the widening circles of disturbed waters, should 
extend with gradual evenness, not only of purpose, 
but of operation. ' Let us,' he would say, ' evan- 
gelize, as far as we can, the space immediately 
surrounding us ; and there will be no lack of mis 
sionaries to work in foreign lands.' No one lis- 
tened with smiles of brighter joy than D. to the 
recital of achievements abroad, where the banner 
of the cross was born into the dominions of Pa- 
ganism, and souls were won to his beloved Master 



THE HEARt's-EASE. 211 

None wilh more prayerful fervency bade God- 
speed to the departing warriors who were about to 
wield their spiritual sword in distant climes : none 
rendered them higher honour, or more triumphant- 
ly dwelt on the glories of what he firmly believed 
to be the crown of genuine martyrdom, w4ien they 
yielded their lives beneath the pressure of their 
sacred burden ; but he deprecated in himself, and 
detected in others, that excitement of feeling which 
too often takes the name of missionary zeal, when 
wrought upon by touching descriptions of spiritual 
darkness and moral degradation among the dwellers 
in far off lands, while carelessly passing the abodes 
of our own countrymen, as completely prostrated 
beneath the power of Satan, as are the savages of 
foreign woods. I never beheld a person so anxious 
to strip religion of all encumbering romance : and 
to bring its divine energies into unfettered action 
in the streets of London. Axid why there partic- 
ularly ? Because his calling was there : because 
in his daily walks from one office to another, he 
passed through lanes and alleys, " where Satan's 
Seat is," and being possessed of but limited means 
as to time and money, he considered himself bound 
to use them where God had seen fit to open a field. 
The little Heartsease looks and breathes of blue 
skies, and verdant fields, and fragrance-fraught par- 
terres ; but to me it pourtrays a diiferent scene, 
bringing before me the densely peopled courts and 



212 THE HEART S'EASE. 

passages of Gray's Inn Lane ; the nesis of vice, 
and dens of misery that display the corruption of 
our great metropolitan cancer, St. Giles'. Oh, 
when will those cloudy regions become bright be- 
neath the beam of gospel truth ? When shall we 
take care, and provide for those of our own na- 
tional household. — When shall the gorgeous gin- 
palace, glittering in our own streets, move us to 
pitying exertion, like the distant temple of Jugger- 
naut pourtrayed in an album — or the thousands of 
suicidal, of infanticidal deeds, hourly perpetrated 
by the wretched females of our own neighbourhood, 
through the unrestrained use of intoxicating drugs, 
touch that chord of sympathy in the bosom of 
Christian ladies, which vibrates to the tale of a 
suttee, or the description of a Hindoo babe, immo- 
lated by its heathen parents ? 

April skies are lovely indeed ; but on what spec- 
tacles do they look down ! — and He who dwelleth 
above those heavens. He beholds them too, and 
will require at our hands the blood of the souls of 
them who perish. Neither may we, if our lot, 
dear reader, be cast far from the scenes where D. 
worked while it was day to him, and where his 
dust now reposes, to cry, as it were, from the 
ground, and chide the flagging zeal of his survi- 
vors — neither may we put the lesson from us on 
the plea that no gin-palace rears its hateful front 
in our daily path. Satan has a seat in every vil- 



THE HEARTS-EASE. 0]^3 

lage, a throne in every natural heart. Be it ours, 
as children of light, to war against the kingdom 
•of darkness, wherever we behold its ensigns dis- 
played ; and let our efforts go forth, wide as the 
glorious comnfiand, " into all the world," " unto 
every creature," as our means may enable us, 
after doing this work at our own doors — not to 
leave the other undone. 

As in families, so in cities : as in cities, so in 
empires. When the day-spring begins to shine, it 
will brighten more and more unto the perfect day. 
"When the tide commences its majestic approach, 
it will overflow, and pass on, and cover the whole 
earth with the knowledge of the glory of the 
Lord. You cannot look up, and survey the clouds 
darkening over your head, you cannot look down^ 
and see the little Heartsease smiling at your feet, 
without feeling conscious that a book of remem- 
brance is before 3^ou. I would rather forego, to 
the last hour of my existence, the dear delights of 
my own sweet garden, than think that I wrote to 
minister a transient gratification to your idle hours, 
and leave you unimpressed with the awful fact, 
that another portion of the very little span of time 
appointed you to work in, has passed away — elud- 
ed your grasp for ever, while you turned over these 
pages — leaving you only a solemn admonition to 
rise up, and be doing, and redeem the moments 
that remain. 



CHAPTER XVIL 



THE RANUNCULUS. 



* You have been plundering from Hervey/ said a 
friend good-humouredly the other day, who traced, 
as he thought, a resemblance between these chap- 
ters and Hervey's Meditations, strong enough to 
warrant the charge. My reply was, simply and 
truly, that I never had read the book. Indeed, I 
remembered having seen it in my father's posses- 
sion, when a child ; but had not perused it. How- 
ever, I resolved to write no more on the subject, 
until I should have made myself acquainted with 
a production that every one is supposed to have 
read : and a rich treat it afforded me. Still I do 
not see that my poor little chapters have arrived 
within any degree of comparison with this beauti- 
ful work : nor do I detect a closer approximation 
of thought than what is founded on the language 
of that blessed book, by which Hervey interpreted 
the great volume of creation. It is there that 
Christ is set forth as the Sun of Righteousness, 
leading every reflective mind to follow up the 



THE RANUNCULUS. 215 

points of the brilliant type : it is there that our at- 
tention is directed to the lilies of the field, with a 
special reference to their beautiful attire, as the 
providential allotment of God. There it is, that 
the flower is set forth, as a touching emblem alike 
of man's goodliness and his decay, while the hea- 
vens are made to declare the glory of God, and 
every element to furnish some vivid illustration of 
His power and love. In fact, when two people 
come to investigate the same subject, under the 
same teacher, and with feelings just similar, even 
though they hold no previous communication one 
with another, still they can hardly do otherwise 
than fall occasionally into the same train of 
thought ; and, in the paucity of words to convey 
the multitude of ideas, to use expressions very 
similar. I never aspired to originality, because I 
should be unwilling to think that none had trodden 
the path of flowers with feelings as delicious as 
are mine, when revelling in the garden sweets : 
but, as another friend to whom I repeated the re- 
mark of the former, told me she had heard it made 
by many, I take this method of assuring all my 
kind readers, upon my honest word, that 1 never 
read Hervey's work until this very day ; conse- 
quently, I am not a plunderer. 

But, had not the good-humoured hint of my 
friend led me to examine Hervey, I should have 
committed myself, irretrievably, in the opinion of 



216 THE RANUNCULUS. 

all suspicious readers : for I had a tale in reserve, 
a most touching story, concerning one whom I 
must have identified v^^ith the Passion-flower ; as I 
have done so for years, owing to an incident where 
that flower led to singular results. I find that 
Hervey has expatiated upon it too largely, to leave 
me any thing to say: and in another instance, 
where the Sensitive plant was the type, I read 
with surprise, almost consternation, what I had 
supposed to be my own exclusive cogitations as 
yet uncommitted to paper. This has straitened 
me a little, in my floral biography : but I am not 
daunted ; and the slight mortification arising from 
Doing denounced as a plagiarist, is most abundant- 
ly overpaid by the acquisition of so sweet a com- 
panion for my flower garden, as I have discovered 
in Hervey. 

Gaily, indeed, is that spot now decked with the 
bright children of May : but I am inclined, 43efore 
proceeding in the survey, to enlarge on an event 
which occurred when I was quite a little girl, and 
which left a lasting impression on my mind. I 
was straying in the garden, searching for some 
polyanthus, and other dwarf flowers, to select a 
small bouquet ; when, in the midst of my opera- 
tions, I found myself suddenly attacked, in a most 
extraordinary manner. The bed where I was 
groping for flowers had, from neglect, become 
much encumbered by weeds, and in reaching at a 



THE RANUNCULUS. S17 

fragrant Ranunculus, I came in contact with a 
flourishing cluster of nettles. The result was, of 
course, very distressing : my hand swelled, and 
became extremely painful, and, in the irritation of 
the moment, my childish resentment prompted me 
to lay hold on the unprovoked aggressors, to tear 
them up, and fling them beyond the garden pales. 
This desire gave way, however, to a more pruden- 
tial feeling, knowing that there was no defence for 
an unarmed hand, against their thousand invisible 
stings. I therefore contented myself with deter- 
mining to point them out to the gardener, and 
w^alked away, in quest of some cooling dock-leaves 
to soften the smart. 

Returning shortly after, I beheld a bee most 
busily plying her trade among the blossoms of 
similar weeds ; and perceiving that they evidently 
contained no small store of honey, I cautiously 
drew a flower from its cup, put it to my lips, and 
was delighted with the sweetness that rewarded 
my enterprize. I made a feast, when I had been 
severely wounded; and retired, congratulating my- 
self on the exercise of that forbearance, which had 
issued in far more pleasing results than would have 
followed a hostile attack on the unequal foe. 

Now, I am not going to indentify the nettles as 

individuals ; but, as a class, how aptly do they 

typify too many who are scattered throughout the 

professing Church of Christ ! Mingled among the 

19 



218 THE RANUNCULUS. 

flowery shrubs, and fruitful blossoms, of the Lord's 
garden, they deceive the unsuspecting stranger, 
who, forgeting that tares will grow with wheat, 
and weeds with flowers, fears no ill where the 
Lord is acknowledged as rightful possessor of the 
soil. The out-stretched hand is met by a stab ; 
and drawn back in wondering incredulity that, 
from the fair green foliage, adorned with clustering 
flowers, and holding its place among the choicest 
of the parterre, such darts should have been pro- 
jected, such venom have oozed forth. But the 
fact is beyond dispute, and the deed proclaims an 
alien unfit to mingle with the fragrant ofi'spring of 
an enclosed garden. It seems almost a point of 
duty to draw the traitor forth, exposed to public 
reprobation, and banished from the sacred spot ; 
but the Lord hath spoken : " Avenge not your- 
selves," " Vengeance is mine ; I will repa}^" 
And faith commits her cause to that unerring hand, 
leaving the enemy unmolested, to seek a balsam 
for the smart — and singular it is, that where net- 
tles abound, the spreading dock is never far off. 
The emissaries of Satan have permission to 
wound ; but the Healer is always nigh, and needs 
but to be sought in the hour of suffering. There 
is that which will soothe the throbbing anguish of 
a thousand stings ; and cool the fever of a spirit, 
where fiery darts have exhausted all their burning 
Yenom. 



THE RANUNCULUS. 219 

Nor does it end here : whatever be the rod, the 
chastisement is ordered and over-ruled by a loving 
Father, that it may yield to his children who are 
exercised thereby, the peaceable fruit of righteous- 
ness. To overlook the rod as a mere instrument, 
in itself utterly contemptible, and from the permit- 
ted chastening to draw sweets, is a very delightful 
privilege. Thus it is that the wrath of man is 
made to praise the Lord, beyond whose permission 
it cannot extend — no, not to the fraction of a hair's 
breadth. The remainder of wrath he restrains ; 
where malice purposed to pour down an over- 
whelming torrent, to drown its devoted object, God 
suffers a few drops to fall, sufficient only to refresh 
and fertilize ; and then, with his mighty breath, 
drives off the swelling cloud to vent its rage be- 
yond the precints of His garden. '' Ye shall have 
tribulation ten days," is Jehovah's award, to those 
whom Satan marked out for utter destruction ; 
and surely these ten days should be days of re- 
joicing, to the souls who hear not only the rod, but 
him who hath appointed it. How sweet are those 
lines ! 

Man may trouble and distress me, 

'Twill but drive me to thy breast ; 
Life with trials hard may press me, 

Heaven will give me sweeter rest. 

Dear Reader, have you ever yet come into con- 
tact with nettles, concealed among the rose-bushes? 



220 THE RANUNCULUS. 

then probably, you can, through grace, bear testi- 
mony that my experience is no chimera. You 
have surely sought the healing leaf; and if so, un- 
questionably you have obtained it. You have 
extracted the honey from your nettle, as Sampson 
from his lion, and you may be well content to 
leave it where you found it, knowing that there 
shall be " a gathering out of all things that offend" 
without your putting yourself forward in the work 
of judgment. Rather bear in mind the humbling 
truth, that such a nettle once were you ; stinging, 
by your vile aggressions, the hand that was 
stretched out on the cross to save you : and if the 
mighty working of unlimited power has changed 
your nature, why despair of its operation upon 
others ? Point out your enemy to the Lord, but 
as an object for converting and sanctifying grace, 
remembering that Saul of Tarsus was the first 
fruits of Stephen's dying prayer. 

I have mentioned the Ranunculus, as the prize 
in pursuit of which I made my first acquaintance 
with the stinging nettle. That flower has been a 
choice favourite from my very early years. I re- 
member accompanying a party to a horticultural 
exhibition on a small scale, where a country gar- 
dener had made the most of his ground, for a dis- 
play of flowers. He had retarded his hyacinths, 
and hastened his tulips, and disposed as they were, 
' on distinct beds, in masses, the effect was splendid. 



THE RANUNCULUS. 221 

I recollect that our connoisseurs were learnedly 
expatiating on the rarity and consequent value, of 
certain magnificent tulips ; while amateurs, were 
bending with delight over the hyacinth bed, inhail- 
ing its delicious fragrance, and reposing the eye on 
those exquisite hues, which, in the species of flower, 
never lack a refreshing coolness. I was strongly 
tempted to enroll myself among the hyacinth 
devotees : but there was something in the neigh- 
bouring family of the Ranunculus' that struck my 
childish fancy above all the rest. There appeared 
a toy-like prettiness in the many-coloured balls, 
that was not to be rivalled by any other ; and when 
a light breeze suddenly swept over the garden, too 
faint to disturb the more substantials stems of their 
neighbours, my Ranunculus' were all in motion, 
nodding their innocent heads, as would seem, at 
me and at each other, with such lively, infantine 
restlessness, that it was rivetted to the spot, indif- 
ferent to any other attraction, while the party con- 
tinued in the garden. 

This was a point in my opening character that 
I cannot trace to any origin ; but it cleaves to me 
yet, and always will do so — a strange faculty of 
forming, as it were, acquaintance with inanimate 
objects, until a sympathetic feeling seemed to exist 
between us, and 1 found a more interesting com- 
panionship in a tree, a flower, or a rivulet, than 
among the greater number of my own species. I 
19* 



222 THE RANUNCULUS. 

am now fully convinced that, out of this compara- 
tively most innocent enjoyment. Satan wove a 
powerful snare for my after-life. Imagination 
took the rein, and carried me out, far beyond the 
boundaries of reality and sober thought. A world 
that I could people entirely after my own unfet- 
tered fancy, w^as doubly attractive when I began 
to experience the hollowness and instability of 
sublunary things. My heart was never cold ; 
neither, as regards my fellow-creatures, was it 
ever treacherous. A very little kindness, the mere 
semblance of love in others, drew forth an abun- 
dant return of unfeigned aJEfection ; and this, of 
course, exposed me, even in childhood, to frequent 
disappointments, on the discovery that I was re- 
ceiving only base coin in exchange for my best 
gold. One would suppose that the affections of an 
immortal creature, repulsed on earth, would natu- 
rally rise with greater vigour heavenward ; — that 
when thus checked in their tendency to shoot, as it 
Avere horizontally, they would assume the perpen- 
dicular, and rise towards God. But, alas ! corrupt 
nature has no desire after that which alone is 
worthy to be desired ; and I transferred every 
slighted affection to that ideal region which my 
own fancy had created, by combining the images 
of whatsoever w^as lovely and loveable in this 
dying world — thus using the gifts of my Creator 
as so many implements wherewith to effect the 



THE RANUNCULUS. 223 

robbery of what was doubly His — my own heart, 
and the faculties of mind and body, implanted by 
His hand, that they might yield him a reasonable 
mcrease. 

Thompson's beautiful hymn on the seasons, al- 
beit that it rises no higher than deism, was the 
first thing that compelled me to see God in his 
works ; and even this greatly sobered my wild 
imagination ; but it was not a humbling truth, as I 
viewed it. Looking around upon a universe of 
mute worshippers ; taught to consider myself as 
one of those 

Chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all ; 

without any knowledge of my own lost and ex- 
ceedingly sinful state, any consciousness of that 
guilty perversion of imparted powers, which sank 
me far below the level of those things that impli- 
citly follow the first law of their existence, even 
*' the wind and storm, fulfilling his word," — what 
benefit could I derive in offering vain oblations of 
praise, from an unsanctified, unhumbled heart? 
But, blessed be God for Jesus Christ ! the gospel 
came, not to divorce me from the contemplation 
of what was so lovely and so soothing when viewed 
aright, but to render that contemplation profitable 
— to print a gentle rebuke on every page of the 
great book, wherein I used only the lessons of 



224 THE RANUNCULUS. 

pride, and slothful indulgence ; and to tell me that, 
while every inferior creature of God is fiUing its 
station, performing its office, and ministering to 
the accomplishment of one vast end, I, v^^ho am 
bought with a mighty price, must not cumber the 
ground, in a life of unfruitful idleness and visionary 
speculations. I, too, must be doing ; and that as 
being well assured that my time is short at the 
longest, precarious in its best estate, and frail as 
the flower which bends before a zephyr's sigh. 

Thus the Ranunculus leads me back to a period 
now distant, and shewing me the long, the guilty 
waste of precious days and years, waves not its 
beautiful head in vain. From a fascinating toy, it 
has become a serious monitor ; but even now I 
cannot look upon a cluster of those flowers without 
experiencing somewhat of the buoyancy of spirit 
that seems to dance within their varigated little 
world. It is my dehberate opinion that, whether 
in form or in colour, the full double Ranunculus 
may challenge any flower that blows ; while the 
remarkably delicate fragrance, that scarcely 
breathes, unless invited, from its rose-fashioned 
petals, is in beautiful keeping with the whole 
character of the elegant plant. 

It may readily be supposed that no person of 
ordinary appearance, or of common mind, would 
bear a comparison with this favourite flower. I 
believe it was one of the very first that I linked 



THE RANUNCULUS. 225 

to a living antitype — always excepting my own 
sweet May-blossom, the fondly-cherished emblem 
of what, among earthly things, is the most sacred- 
ly dear to my heart — but in childhood I have de- 
hghted to lead, with careful hand, among my 
flower-beds, one whose fair head hung languidly 
down, and whose attenuated form appeared to 
tremble, if touched by a breeze that would wave 
the Ranunculus. I remember her well — she was 
most lovely ; and to gratify her little companion, 
she would be as playful as she was sweet. The 
child of a fond father, the image of one in whom 
all his affection had centered : whom he had 
watched over, while she slowly pined and wither- 
ed under the blightening hand of consumption, 
and in whose grave was buried all that had sweet- 
ened his life, save only this fair girl, in whose 
transparent complexion, and in the glitter of her 
full blue eye, he read the' pressage of hovering 
decay. The blight that struck her mother down, 
had indeed passed upon her ; and my first recol- 
lection of her is what I have alluded to — my con- 
ducting her, in the cool of a soft summer evening, 
through the little mazy walks of my especial 
garden, pointing out to her notice, now the tint of 
a flower, now the corresponding hues of a glorious 
western sky ; and anon that exquisite object, Hes- 
perus, sparkling in a flood of liquified gold. I 
looked up in her sweet face, and the smile that 



226 THE RANUNCULUS. 

beamed there spoke cheer to me ; yet I felt that 
she was Hke one of the withering Ranunculus', 
ready to sink before the next rude breath of air. 

At the window of our rural parlour, sat the fond 
parent of this fading blossom ; and as I marked the 
watchful gaze of an eye suffused in tears, following 
every step of his child, I felt more than ever that 
something must be wrong ; and my heart grew sad, 
to think that a creature, as lovely as my flowers, 
should be equally transient in her bloom. Our 
abode was in a very open, yet retired spot ; and 
its air was considered very salubrious for the sink- 
ing Lauretta. Frequently did her father drive up 
to our gate in his pony-chaise ; and being himself 
too much afflicted, by some rheumatic complaint, 
to walk, he took his post at that pleasant window, 
fronting the western sky ; while I led his feeble 
charge to inhale the breath of flowers, and to bask 
in the slanting rays of an orb that was soon to set 
for ever, to her. She went to the tomb before that 
summer had shed its latest glow ; and her father 
survived her but a short time. Their forms soon 
melted away in the undefined vagueness of days 
long since past ; but on a sweet evening, when the 
retiring sun-beams glance on a bed of Ranunculus', 
I often behold the vision of Lauretta and her father, 
surrounded by the scenes that memory will then 
call up, in all the vivid reality that makes the pre- 
sent appear as a dream. 



THE RANUNCULUS. 227 

I know not — I have no means of knowing — 
whether the path of that dying girl was lightened 
by the beams of a far brighter Sun than I could 
point out to her ; whether the bereavements of her 
widowed father, even then, in anticipation, child- 
less too, were blessed to his soul's peace, by lead- 
ing him to seek the Lord, who had both given and 
taken away. That cloud of doubt hangs over the 
greater number of those whose images people the 
haunts of my infancy : the Baal of worldliness 
appeared to reign supreme ; yet surely among 
them the Lord had reserved to himself a remnant, 
whose knee had not bowed to the idol, nor their 
mouth kissed him. In many respects, there are 
shadows resting on the past, impervious to the anx- 
ious eye as those that veil the future ; but the 
present is our own ; and as we use it, so we are — 
flowers to grace the garden of our Lord, imparting 
to others of the fragrance of his gifts, and adorning 
the spot wherein he delights to dwell — or weeds, 
to offend the little ones of his flock; intruders, 
whose desert is to be rooted out, and whose end is 
to be burned. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



THE GARDEN. 



Beautiful at all times, and always refreshing, 
there are seasons when the garden wears a coun- 
tenance of enhanced beauty, and wafts to the 
spirit a refreshment more welcome than at others. 
Such is the case, when, after a short period, per- 
chance a day or two, passed in the crowded me- 
tropolis, we return to the bosom of domestic 
repose, and wander through the maze of flowers, 
all fresh and sparkling from the pure moisture of 
an untainted atmosphere. Balmy, indeed, are the 
breathings of my lovely companions after such an 
absence : and most intelligible is the welcome that 
their smile bespeaks. At all times I feel it ; but 
now more truly than at other seasons : for a short 
excursion to the mighty capital has filled my mind 
with images more touchingly tender than I can 
well bear to contemplate, save in the society of 
these beloved mementos of all that my heart has 
learnt to cherish, through a varied and painful 
course. I could not afibrd to lose this picture 



THE GARDEN. 229 

gallery : at least, I should need a large portion of 
all-sufficient grace, cheerfully to submit to that 
privation, to which multitudes of my fellow-crea- 
tures are subjected. The sense of sight is a 
blessing that we do not rightly appreciate : and I 
am conscious of much guilty omission in that I do 
not oftener render thanks to God for such enjoy- 
ment. Is there no echo to this acknowledgment 
in the bosom of my reader ? 

I bless the Father of mercies for the delight 
that he has given me in the works of his hand ; 
and I desire to find in them an ever active stimulus 
in the path of willing obedience. Shall I rebel, 
when, from the majestic oak, that even now is put- 
ting forth his multitudinous leaves, each in its ap- 
pointed place, down to the butter-cup that holds 
forth its tiny receptacle, to catch the falling rain- 
drop, all, all are implicitly following His law, from 
the third day of creation, even to the present hour ? 
Shall I move laggingly on in my assigned course, 
like a fettered slave forced to his task-work, while 
each little blade of grass springs up with joyous 
elasticity, even though my footstep again and again 
presses it down to earth ? No, there is a lesson 
to be learned here, and I will con it, so long as the 
Lord, by his aiding grace, enables me to study his 
will in his works, even as his word hath command- 
ed me to do. 

But my picture gallery — what has now endeared 
20 



230 THE GARDEN. 

it beyond its common value ? I have been where 
every chord of my heart was compelled to vibrate, 
and every form and colour of by-gone scenes most 
vividly represented to my tearful gaze. I found 
myself in an assemblage, including many whose 
looks of love are still permitted to gladden me ; 
and, alas ! presenting many vacancies where 
others, most deeply endeared, had passed away — 
some to the world of spirits, and some into dis- 
tance almost as remote. The May-blossom, that 
in fond, annual commemoration of the day, I had 
hidden in my bosom, bore a thorn which I had not 
the heart to break off; for why should I not feel, 
even bodily, the piercings of what had been to me 
a broken reed, so far as this world's comfort is 
concerned ? The very thorn of that withered 
May-flower was more precious to me than all the 
living garlands of the present spring. There are 
many who will question the truth of this ; but 
some there are, who, without knowing any thing 
of me or mine, will, from individual experience, 
acknowledge it to be unquestionable. 

The object of the meeting before me, was one 
inexpressibly dear to my heart — the promotion of 
poor Erin's spiritual good, through the divinely 
appointed medium of her native tongue. I say 
divinely-appointed : for God has declared it to be 
so, not only in word, but by confirming signs and 
wonders, which none might gainsay. 



THE GARDEN. 231 

Who that contemplates the day of Pentecost 
can deny this ? Could not the same Omnipotence 
have rendered one dialect intelligible to all hearers, 
at no greater expense of miraculous power, than 
was required to pour at once the eloquence of 
more than fifty various languages from the lips of 
twelve unlettered men? It was the divine will, 
that each should hear them speak in his own 
tongue, the wonderful works of God : and shall 
our poor sister sit desolate upon her green moun- 
tains, excluded, through our iniquitous neglect, 
from sharing the privilege that was extended to the 
swarthy Egyptian, and the dweller of the distant 
desert — that is now carried out alike to the in- 
habitant of polar regions, and to the South-sea 
islander, to the wild hunter in his western forest, 
to the Brahmin, in his eastern fane, and which in 
his own uncouth dialect, speaks words of peace in 
the Hottentot's kraal ? It is a foul spot in our 
feasts of excursive charity, to have those of our 
own household sit famishing at the portal : it is a 
denying of the faith — it is an aggravation of some- 
thing worse than infidelity. But, blessed be God ! 
the odious stain is in the hands of the scourer; 
and fuller's soap will, ere long, whiten this defiled 
garment of ours. It must be so : for the Lord 
puts such persuasive words into the mouths of 
those who plead for our poor sister, that many 
were, on that day, constrained to lay down for a 



232 THE GARDEN. 

while the telescope so curiously pointed towards 
the remote corners of the globe, and shed a tear 
over the mourner, who has so long sat neglected 
at their feet. God puts such tears into his bottle : 
yet, not by weeping shall we help Ireland, unless 
we join thereto the fervent supplication of interced- 
ing spirits : and when that is accomplished, we 
have done but the preliminary work. Our tears 
and prayers are to the Lord, that he would send 
help: he answers, "Who shall I send, or who will 
go for us ?" Here is the test : are we ready to 
reply, " Here am T, send me ?" Perhaps not liter- 
ally, for no q^iraculous power is now put forth, to 
fit us for the task of speaking in other tongues ; 
and we cannot all become learners of a new dia- 
lect : but let it be remembered that there are hun- 
dreds, yea, thousands, competent to engage in the 
sacred labour, and under the greatest advantages 
that local knowledge and attachment can afford, 
awaiting only the means which you hold within 
your purse-strings, to set them at work. This 
fact is unquestionable ; and a most astounding fact 
it is, — two shillings will buy an Irish Testament ; 
eight shillings the whole word of God in that lan- 
guage ; and three pounds eleven shillings and 
three-pence, will aflford a salary on which a native 
Irishman can be found, to spread its contents, for 
a year, amid the habitations of his darkened coun- 
trymen. And oh, how beautiful on the mountains 



THE GARDEN. 233 

of Erin are the feet of those who publish peace, 
where war — intestine war, goaded by bigotry — 
has for ages past defiled the land with blood ! I 
look around me on the peaceable possessions of an 
English garden : I recall a long sojourn in the sis- 
ter isle, yet more brilliantly clad in the profusion 
of vegetable beauty, and again does my heart bleed 
over a scene most unexpectedly placed before my 
mind's eye, in the very assemblage to which I 
have alluded. 

There stood forth one, who came to plead for 
his poor country ; and he told a simple tale of 
what his own eyes had seen, his own experience 
verified, within a short space of time. He spoke 
of a mansion where peace had dwelt : where the 
pastor of a parish had long abode, and from whence 
he was driven by the blood-thirsty rage of a mul- 
titude, whose menaces compelled him to flee for 
his life. He told of the Wretched contrast that 
ensued — of the glebe-house transformed to a bar- 
rack — of peaceful chambers garrisoned by armed 
men — of the bugle note echoing where, from a 
family altar, had ascended the quiet tones of prayer 
and praise. Tears from many eyes bore witness 
to the sympathy of his hearers ; but none flowed 
from a source so deep as mine. That pastor was 
my friend ; that glebe-house was the pleasant 
home where I learnt the meaning of those other- 
wise inexplicable words, Irish hospitality ! la 
20* 



234 THE GARDEN. 

those light and airy, chambers, I had, many a 
night, sunk into pleasant repose ; awakened by the 
morning beam, to rove through a wilderness of the 
choicest sweets, and then to kneel amid the house- 
hold band, uniting my devotions at that family altar. 
There was no fiction in k : nothing for imagination 
to fill up ; all was reality, deep-felt, agonizing 
truth : and though, I bless my God, I do love 
Ireland, and mourn for her, and have tried to serve 
her, even from that very time, yet I never so loved, 
I never so grieved, I never so burned to spend and 
be spent for her, as when that appalhng description 
was given, of scenes where my bosom^s warmest 
affections had been drawn out, and where the vic- 
tims of popish persecution were my friends, my 
endeared, my hospitable Christian friends ; and 
the wretched instruments of destruction were the 
smiling peasants, whose cabins I had visited, 
whose children I had fondled, and from whose 
scanty meal of potatoes I had often accepted the 
choicest morsel, rather than hurt their generous 
feelings, by declining that which they could ill af- 
ford to give. My poor, warm-hearted, impetuous, 
deluded Irish ! What can I do for them ? What, 
but pray and plead for their immortal souls, drag- 
ged into perdition by means of chains, that you,, 
reader, might well assist to break. 

The dear young pastor who related this touch- 
ing story, gave a singular instance of the efficacy 



THE GARDEN. 235 

of those means. He told of the funeral of a 
policeman, whose mangled remains he buried amid 
menacing thousands of those whose hands had shed 
his blood, or whose hearts applauded the deed. 
They pressed on the heretic minister, with thoughts 
of similar violence ; but the Lord put it into his 
heart to use his knowledge of the vernacular tongue 
for their benefit : he continued the beautiful service 
in Irish ; and the effect was wonderful. They 
listened, they joined in it ; and at the close they 
opened a passage for him wilh uncovered heads, 
pronouncing a blessing on him in the tongue that 
they loved : and such was the influence that its 
use had given him over them, that, when frankly 
declaring their purpose of not leaving a Protestant 
alive in the parish, they told him his blood w^ould 
be the last that they should shed ! 

I cannot forget the thrilling reality of all this : 
neither could I, nor would I, forget that he who so 
feelingly, so tenderly, interceded for his deluded 
countrymen, had, within a few short weeks, beheld 
the grey hairs of his own beloved father brought 
down in blood to the grave, by the murderous hands 
of such as he was pleading for. He alluded not to 
this : but surely the blessing of him who prayed 
for His murderers, could not but sanctify the effort 
made : and surely a portion of that blessing will 
accompany even my poor record of it, to reach the 
heart of some on behalf of Ireland's guilty Papists 



236 THE GARDEN. 

and her wronged, her persecuting, her forgiving 
Christian Protestants. 

I am not going to select a flower, and an indivi- 
dual for this chapter. I take the whole garden for 
my type, and Ireland for my departed friend. Alas ! 
she lies among the dead : but the spirit of life will 
re-enter, and she shall cast forth her grave clothes, 
despite of Satan and of Rome. I remember, many 
years ago, passing some hours in a garden, that 
might serve as the very personification of Ireland. 
It belonged to a noble mansion, the titled owner of 
which had not for years inhabited it. The dwelling 
was closed, but in no manner decayed ; and the 
garden was deserted, not destroyed. There were 
winding walks, bordered with exquisite shrubs : 
but the latter had attained a growth that stretched 
their branches across the path ; and weeds of 
enormous magnitude seemed to compete, on equal 
terms, the possession of the soil. In one place, 
my foot was caught by the tangled meshes of a 
moss-rose-tree, straggling quite over the gravel 
walk, and actually throwing me down in my at- 
tempt to pass ; nor did I escape without scratched 
hands and a torn dress. In another, I had to rend 
my way, though reluctantly, by destroying whole 
masses of honey-suckle ; and such was the diffi- 
culty of proceeding, that only one of the party 
would accompany me in my determined efforts to 
explore the whole scene. It must not be supposed 



THE GARDEN. 237 

that overgrown rose-trees, and rampant honey- 
suckles were the only obstacles we encountered. 
Many a nettle thrust its aspiring shoots into our 
very faces ; and not a few sturdy thistles poig- 
narded our ancles. A more annoying, vexatious, 
perplexing task could hardly be imagined ; only 
that at every step, we were compelled to cry out, 
*' If it were but weeded, and pruned, and dressed, 
what a paradise it would be !" 

I well recollect, too, the unexpected termination 
of this strange ramble. We arrived at a spot 
where the luxuriant growth of all descriptions of 
garden trees, laburnum, lilac, arbutus, laurel, and 
an endless etcetera, no longer shut out the sky from 
our view, but opened to us a little grassy knoll, 
surmounted by an ancient yew, of beautiful form, 
round the trunk of which was the wreck of a ru- 
ral seat. We ascended the gentle slope, and at- 
tempted to pass round the tree ; but ah, what a 
start did I give on accomplishing the half of my 
purpose ! Beyond that tree, not a leaf of vegeta- 
tion was to be perceived, excepting the grass and 
hawthorn shoots that clad a precipitous descent, of 
a few yards, beyond which lay a strip of bright 
yellow sand, and then the ocean, the grand, the 
glorious German ocean, stretching away to the 
horizon, in the deep blue of unbroken repose ; save 
where the thousands of little silvery billows, gem- 
med into unspeakable beauty, by the slanting rays 



238 THE GARDEN. 

of the western sun, came rippling along the edge 
of the coast, and sported over the sands. The 
contrast was inconceivably fine : never did ocean 
appear so mighty, nor ' all the grand magnificence 
of heaven' so imposingly sublime, as when I had 
just emerged from that labyrinth of neglected 
flowers and permitted weeds. Yet it was all in 
keeping : sea and sky most beautifully harmonized 
with the wide range of tall green shrubs, on which 
I could look back, or rather down, from the emi- 
nence : and the many-tinted clouds of sunset ap- 
peared as the very pallet from whence the flowers 
had stolen their corresponding hues. I was then 
a wild young girl, and my feelings were kindled to 
the liighest pitch of enthusiasm by the scene : but 
I liltle thought that a deserted garden on England's 
eastern coast, was, in after years, to furnish a type 
for the lovely western isle, concerning which I, of 
course, knew less then I did of Peru or Kamt- 
chatka. I say of course, because it seems to be 
a general rule among us, that young people should 
know no more of Ireland than they can learn by 
committing to memory the names of its four pro- 
vinces and thirty-two counties ; and old people only 
what they can glean from the newspapers : in 
proof whereof I will just mention that, four years 
ago, wanting to refer to an authentic history of 
Ireland, I went to borrow it from the library of a 
first rate military public institution, which salaries 



THE GARDEN. 239 

a professor of history — there was none ! I then 
sent to all the private collections within ten miles, 
and some much farther, but no such book as a his- 
tory of Ireland was to be found in any of them. 
I applied to a quarter in London, where I was sure 
of success : — any other history was at my service ; 
but not a line of Irish history had they. Poor as 
I was, I could not endure the stigma to rest on all 
the English ; so I bought Leland, in three good 
volumes ; and I positively declare that, of all the 
English friends who have noticed it in my precious 
cabinet of Irish bog-yew, not one had read the book. 
Now, if this be not the devil's doing, to blind our 
eyes, and harden our hearts against the claims of 
our dear brethren — whose is it ? Yet there is a 
work I would rather see than Leland's, in the pos- 
session of my friends. Christopher Anderson's 
Historical Sketches of the native Irish, is a gem 
such as six shillings will not' often buy. 

I have rambled from my garden, but not from 
my point. Ireland is such a spot as I have faith- 
fully described ; for what I have written is un- 
adorned fact. Ireland is a garden, where what 
was originally good, has run to rampant mischief, 
only bearing abundant token that it needs but to 
be pruned and trained, to become again most inno- 
cently lovely. Ireland is a garden, where what is 
radically bad, has, through our wicked neglect, 
taken root, and well nigh usurped the soil, to the 



S40 THE GARDEN. 

extirpation of many a delicate plant, that was 
thrust out to make way for its noxious growth. 
Ireland is a garden, where he who only lounges 
for his amusement, or dwells for his convenience, 
will be — ought to be — scratched, and stung, and 
tripped up, and bemauled : but where he who, 
with axe and pruning-hook, assails the bad root, 
and dresses the good tree, who gathers up, and 
binds together, and weeds, and plants, and waters, 
looking to God for the increase, may, and will, be- 
hold his share of the desert transformed into a 
blooming Eden — the wilderness into the garden of 
the Lord. Furthermore, he shall find, when his 
work is ended, a resting-place, where the ocean of 
eternity shall lie before him in all the unruffled 
majesty of bright repose, while the winds are held 
fast in the hollow of God's hand, and the sun 
shines forth, even the Sun of Righteousness, to 
beautify with celestial splendour the interminable 
prospect of delight. " Not of works," God for- 
bid ! No, but of that grace which alone, in the 
face of Satan and all his hosts, can gird us to the 
mighty deed of hurling great Babylon from her 
usurped seat : and which does not choose and 
sanctify an instrument here, to be cast into the fire 
when the work is accomplished. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE JESSAMINE. 



That dear little modest flower, the Jessamine, 
with its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses 
of cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most 
limited spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever I 
was confined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact, 
merely a gravelled walk, raised to the height of a 
couple of steps above the level of the paved court, 
which formed the rear of some premises where I 
was an inmate. The further side, and the ex- 
tremities of this walk, were bounded by an ex- 
ceedingly high wall ; and nothing could have been 
more ruefully sombre, or more widely removed 
from any approach to the picturesque, had not the 
old wall possessed a mantle of Jessamine, the 
most luxuriant that I remember ever to have seen. 
The slender branches had mounted nearly to its 
summit ; then, finding no farther artificial support, 
through neglect, which shall presently be accoun- 
ted for, they bent downward, shooting out in un- 
checked profusion, until the whole space might 
21 



242 THE JESSAMINE. 

with strict propriety be called a bower. The upper 
part of the wall was more gaudily attired, in all the 
variations of green moss, yellow and blue creepers, 
and the dark red of the wall-flower. Beyond 
these, nothing appeared but a strip of sky. At 
the foot of the rampart some thrifty hand had ar- 
ranged a narrow plantation of balm, sage, parsley, 
and thyme, so close that the introduction of any 
other shrub was impossible : of course, the old 
wall possessed the sole claim to the designation of 
a flower-garden ; and, circumstanced as I then 
was, I learnt to be thankful for any medium that 
led my eye to the brighter world above ; for, in 
truth, all sublunary things were exceedingly dark 
around me. 

It was impossible, at least to me, to avoid iden- 
tifying' the Jessamine with her who owned that 
narrow spot, and who was peacefully journeying 
on, to take up her last earthly abode in one still 
narrower. Disease had blanched her cheek to the 
whiteness of the flower, and bowed her frame like 
its declining branches ; while the nature of her 
malady forbade the continuance of her once fa- 
vourite occupation of training and propping the 
Jessamine. Cancer, in its worst and most excru- 
ciating form, had seized upon her ; and, at the 
time whereof I speak, it had spread from the side 
to the arm, reducing her to a state of suffering not 
to be conceived but by those who have closely 



THE JESSAMINE. 243 

watched the progress of that deadly complaint, de- 
vouring its victim, piecemeal. 

Often have I gone out from the presence of the 
dear sufferer, to meditate upon the amazing power 
of divine grace, which she abundantly possessed ; 
a rich treasure in an earthen vessel so deplorably 
marred as to make it doubly apparent that all the 
excellency of that power was of God. I found it 
hard, in an early stage of my Christian experience, 
to reconcile the acuteness of her bodily anguish 
with those promises of holy writ which describe 
the believer as possessed of all things — godliness 
as having the promise of this life, as well as that 
which is to come — and the Lord as withholding 
no good thing from them that walk uprightly. I 
could not comprehend how such exquisite patience 
should be visited with tribulation so severe ; for I 
had still to learn, that the tribulation wrought the 
patience. Hundreds of times have I paced up 
and down that confined path, murmuring against 
the cross that my friend so cheerfully bore ; and 
questioning the love that so grievously afflicted 
her. Sometimes the dumb boy, then in the first 
steps of instruction, would come to me, increasing 
my perplexity by showing that the same thoughts 
occupied his mind. In his imperfect phraseology, 
he would again and again say, ' Poor Mrs. C. 
much hurt. What? God love Mrs. C? God 
hurt Mrs. C. What?' The word— what ! inter- 



244 THE JESSAMINE. 

rogalively repeated, with an impatient shake of the 
head, signified a desire for information. In this 
case, I could only reply, ' Yes, God loves Mrs. C. 
Poor Mrs. C. soon go to heaven.' Jack, who 
realized heavenly things in a way that few^ of us 
attain to, was content with this assurance, under 
the expectation of her immediate removal to glory : 
but I knew that she had, probably, many a long 
month to linger yet ; and as weeks passed away, 
Jack would come out with his embarassing 'What? 
Mrs. C. very long pain ! What — God love Mrs. C. ? 
I found her, one day, in her nice parlour, dress- 
ed as usual, with exquisite neatness, her poor arm 
supported in a sling of white muslin, and her pale 
cheek wearing the sorrowful smile that rarely left 
it. ' Have you had a tolerable night, dear friend?' 
I asked. She replied, 'I had no sleep at all; the 
doctor dared not give me an anodyne, and the pain 
was so excessive, that I could not help weeping. 
However, a thought came into my mind that com- 
forted me. It occurred to me that I might have 
been brought up a Socinian ; and oh, dear lady, 
how dreadful it would have been, to acknowledge 
Jesus Christ as something less than God ! When 
I thought of the mercy that taught me from my 
early youth to confess Him as God; and the sove- 
reign grace that has more lately enabled me to see 
Him as my God, bearing my sins in His own body 
on the tree, oh, then my tears fell much faster; 



THE JESSAMINE. 245 

but they were full of joy ; and I learnt the value 
of the pain that kept me awake to recall this mer- 
cy to mind, and to meditate on the great love of 
my Saviour.' 

While she said this, her tears again stole forth ; 
but her countenance wore an aspect so heavenly, 
that I soon betook myself to the Jessamine walk, 
to wonder why I had never thanked God for not 
allowing me to be born among Socinians. 

A whole year, I think, this blessed woman lin- 
gered in tortures indescribable ; and latterly she 
would not admit into her room any but those who 
were obliged to enter it ; so great was the delicacy 
of her feelings for others. She, however, used to 
speak from her bed to those in an adjoining apart- 
ment, the door being placed ajar, and very sweet 
was her conversation. One day, after a week of 
dreadful agony, she asked her maid to hft her from 
her bed, to try if a change of position would bring 
any relief ; she was accordingly, seated on a low 
chair ; and, laying her head on the girl's shoulder, 
in a very soft, but animated voice, she murmured, 
'Mary Heaven 1' and instantly departed thither. 

I placed some delicate Jessamine flowers in her 
coffin : and most delicious it was to gaze upon her 
placid countenance, with a vivid recollection of her 
bitter sufferings, and an equally vivid assurance of 
her present bliss. Never did the beautiful hymn, 
commencing, 'Ah, lovely appearance of death,' 
21* 



846 THE JESSAMINE. 

seem so appropriate, as when I repeated it beside 
her corpse : never did the high wall of the dark 
little garden, studded with shining white stars, 
afford so sweet a meditation as on the close of that 
summer-eve. Three or four days after, Jack and 
I arose very early to see her remains committed 
to the ground, while the dew-drops were still upon 
the grass. His smile was triumphantly joyous, 
though tears stole down his cheeks, as he said, 
' Yes, God loves Mrs., C. Good Mrs. C. gone to 
heaven. Yes, Jesus Christ loves Mrs. C 

I have frequently been led to consider the asser- 
tions of some Christians, that bodily suffering is 
not an evil : that, when in severe pain, they could 
desire still greater, as enabling them the more to 
glorify God ; and also that such inflictions are sent 
altogether as marks of distinguishing favour, not 
in punishment. T do not think that such was the 
view taken by my friend ; she appeared to regard 
the sufferings of her body as a chastisement, not 
joyous but grievous ; but being to her, through 
divine grace, made an exercise of faith, patience, 
and love, it yielded most peaceable and beautiful 
fruits. I have been startled, many a time, by the 
rash and presumptuous complaints of those in 
prosperity, lamenting that they had no cross laid 
upon them, and envying the lot of their afflicted 
friends ; as though tribulation and anguish were 
the determined portion of all God's children. I 



THE lESSAx\IINE. 247 

grant that the apostle assures us we must through 
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven ; 
and that all who live godly in Christ Jesus shall 
suffer persecution ; but I cannot see that it neces- 
sarily follows that we are to doubt our adoption, 
when the Lord, giving us liberally all things to 
enjoy, fills our hearts with food and gladness. 
Ease and prosperity are, in themselves, very try- 
ing to the Christian ; and he is apt enough, when 
so tried, finding his corruptions strong, and sin 
struggling for the dominion, to prescribe for him- 
self a course of temporal calamities, as the only 
effectual remedy ; instead of applying to the sanc- 
tifying aid of the Holy Spirit, who taught Paul no 
less how to abound, than how to suffer need. I 
have often admired the levelling simplicity of that 
concise portion of our beautiful litany, which bids 
us pray " In all time of our wealth, in all time of 
our tribulation, good Lord deliver us." One state 
is not a wit more secure than the other ; we are 
just as prone to make a popish purgatory of our 
afflictions, as we are to make a fool's paradise of 
our joys ; and sinful as it is to repine under the 
chastening rod, it appears even more inexcusable 
to grumble at the profusion of our temporal mer- 
cies. On the other hand, unless in some very 
peculiar cases, it seems to me quite as unbecoming 
to make a boast of our calamities, as to glory in 
our worldly possessions ; for what is it, in fact, but 



248 THE JESSAMINE. 

a covert vaunt of our patience and faith ? I have 
seen some dear sufferers, writhing under the most 
excruciating torments of acute disease, or pining 
in lengthened confinement to a sick room, or weep- 
ing, in the bitterness of their souls, a sudden be- 
reavment, which has left them comparatively alone 
upon earth : — I have seen them compelled to listen, 
while others, in the full enjoyment of health and 
prosperity, lectured them upon the enviableness of 
their lot : and required of them songs of mirth in 
their heaviness. God can, and does, give songs in 
the night of sorrow, heard by himself alone ; and 
undoubtedly, he also enables his people to rejoice, 
even outwardly, at the abundant consolations with 
which he outnumbers their light and momentary 
afflictions ; but I do not love to see a wounded 
spirit, lodged in a weak body, crammed, as it were, 
with the crude notions of others, who but know theo 
retically what their friend is sensibly experiencing. 
I am very sure that Mrs. C. was one of the 
most heavenly-minded persons I ever met with. 
Her rank in life did not bring her into what is 
called polite society, except among those who re 
cognized the tie of membership under one glori 
ous Head. Her education had not been of a supe 
rior order ; but alike in mind, manners and conver 
sation, the indwelling Spirit shed a lustre around 
her, which commanded respect from every one 
There was an humble dignity in her deportment 



THE JESSAMINE. 249 

that could awe the most reckless into submission 
to her calm and mild rebuke : and her sympathi- 
zing pastors came to her less to impart than to receive 
consolation, encouragement, and spiritual profit: 
while she, in the spirit of a Httle child, desired but 
to sit at their feet and learn. Now, I would sooner 
take the feelings of such a person for a rule whera- 
by to judge, than the laboured conclusions of pro- 
found thinkers, on a point which, after all, they 
could but think upon : and I am sure that Mrs. C. 
regarded pain as a positive evil, the bitter and hu- 
mihating fruit of sin, judicially inflicted, to rebuke 
and chasten ; and by no means to be glorified in, 
as an especial privilege, even by God's children. 
I have seen the tears stand in her eyes, while her 
look expressed somewhat of Job's mournful re- 
proof, to the injudicious friends, who undertook to 
prove that her bodily torments were so many calls 
for exultation and delight : biit, when left to draw 
her own deductions from the Lord's dealings with 
her, as explained by his word, and applied by the 
Spirit, she would sweetly acknowledge, as in~the 
instance of that sleepless night, how much of mer- 
cy her severest trials were made the means of 
conveying to her soul. Had recovery been possible, 
I make no doubt that she would gladly have used 
every means to throw off her dreadful malady ; 
and most touching was the fervency of her thank- 
fulness to the Father of mercies, when a few 



250 THE JESSAMINE. 

hours of sleep had been permitted to refresh her 
wearied body. Yet she desired to depart, and to 
be with Christ, knowing it to be far better than a 
lengthened sojourn upon earth ; and since the Lord 
had appointed that hngering and agonizing disease, 
as her path to the grave, she was content. To 
say that, if left to her own choice, she would 
not have preferred a less torturing disease, would 
be more than I should feel justified in asserting : but 
I am sure that she believed that to be best for her 
which the Lord had chosen ; and that she never 
desired it to be otherwise than as He willed it. 

The Jessamine, at all times and in all places, is 
lovely : but that on the antique wall, breathing 
fragrance on my evening promenade, was certain- 
ly the richest and the sweetest that I ever met 
with. No flower can be more simply elegant in 
form, more untainted in the purity of its perfect 
whiteness, or more refreshingly odoriferous in its 
delicate scent. There is, besides, something in 
its utter inability to sustain itself, that farther illus- 
trates the Christian character. The Jessamine 
will aspire and grow to a considerable height, but it 
must be upheld throughout, or it sinks downward, 
and defiles in the dust of the earth those beauties 
which were formed to expand towards heaven. 
Let but a single shoot break loose from its sup- 
port, and you see it straggling far away, with an 
earthward tendency, the sport of every wind. Is 



THE JESSAMINE. 251 

not the type obvious ? I once remarked a stray- 
ing branch of the Jessamine, crossed in its way 
by the shoot of a neighbouring ivy, and firmly 
fixed to the wall by the steady progress of its 
more adhesive companion. Here, the strong bore 
the infirmities of the weak, by love serving another, 
and becoming a fellow-helper in the faith to a less 
stable believer. It was beautiful to see how, from 
this point, the Jessamine shot upwards, bearing to a 
great height the fragrant blossoms that would other- 
wise have been trampled under foot : and the infer- 
ence was cheering too. I have often thought that 
I must write a chapter on the ivy, which is really the 
most patronizing of plants ; though like the patrons 
of this world, it sometimes destroys its protege. 
But to return to the Jessamine. It is long; since I 
gazed upon the old wall of dear Mrs. C.'s humble 
garden, and many an experimental lesson have I 
since been made to learn, of the necessity both for 
prop and pruning-knife, am.ong the Lord's weak 
straggling plants. But there is something so sweet 
in the recollection of my lonely walks, where in- 
deed there was scarcely room for two to pace the 
garden, that I rank the Jessamine, with its pointed 
leaves and starry flowers, among the most precious 
of my store : and if ever I possess a cottage of 
my own, it shall clothe the walls, and peep into 
the casements, with its well-remembered story 
of patience, piety, and peace. 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 



I HAVE already mentioned that I was nearly deter- 
red from taking up two or three subjects, by find- 
ing that Hervey had left me nothing to say respect- 
ing the particular flowers connected with them. 
I shall, however, venture to pursue the original 
plan, at least with regard to one of these, especial- 
ly as I have very little to say of the type ; and a 
great deal of that to which I have attached it, as a 
memento. 

I never could look upon the Passion-flower so 
enthusiastically as some do, nor find much gratifi- 
cation in following up the imaginary resemblance 
to that whence its name is derived : and, strange 
as it may appear, although peculiarly fond of 
graphic representations, I have rather an aversion, 
as well to those which assume to pourtray the 
awful scene of Calvary, as to the incongruous host 
of Madonnas and holy families ; which, from their 
utter dissimilarity one to another, irresistibly im- 
press my mind with the idea of gross fiction, and 



CHAPTER XIX. 



THE JESSAMINE. 



That dear little modest flower, the Jessamine, 
with its milk-white blossoms half hid in the masses 
of cool refreshing green, used to adorn the most 
limited spot, in the shape of a garden, that ever I 
was confined to, as a promenade. It was, in fact, 
merely a gravelled walk, raised to the height of a 
couple of steps above the level of the paved court, 
which formed the rear of some premises where I 
was an inmate. The further side, and the ex- 
tremities of this walk, were bounded by an ex- 
ceedingly high wall ; and nothing could have been 
more ruefully sombre, or more widely removed 
from any approach to the picturesque, had not the 
old wall possessed a mantle of Jessamine, the 
most luxuriant that I remember ever to have seen. 
The slender branches had mounted nearly to its 
summit ; then, finding no farther artificial support, 
through neglect, which shall presently be accoun- 
ted for, they bent downward, shooting out in un- 
checked profusion, until the whole space might 
21 



242 THE JESSAMINE. 

with strict propriety be called a bower. Tlie tipper 
part of the wall was more gaudily attired, in all the 
variations of green moss, yellow and blue creepers, 
and the dark red of the wall-flower. Beyond 
these, nothing appeared but a strip of sky. At 
the foot of the rampart some thrifty hand had ar- 
ranged a narrow plantation of balm, sage, parsley, 
and thyme, so close that the introduction of any 
other shrub was impossible : of course, the old 
wall possessed the sole claim to the designation of 
a flower-garden ; and, circumstanced as I then 
was, T learnt to be thankful for any medium that 
led my eye to the brighter world above ; for, in 
truth, all sublunary things were exceedingly dark 
around me. 

It was impossible, at least to me, to avoid iden- 
tifying the Jessamine with her who owned that 
narrow spot, and who was peacefully journeying 
on, to take up her last earthly abode in one still 
narrower. Disease had blanched her cheek to the 
whiteness of the flower, and bowed her frame like 
its declining branches ; while the nature of her 
malady forbade the continuance of her once fa- 
vourite occupation of training and propping the 
Jessamine. Cancer, in its worst and most excru- 
ciating form, had seized upon her; and, at the 
time whereof I speak, it had spread from the side 
to the arm, reducing her to a state of sufl'ering not 
to be conceived but by those who have closely 



THE JESSAMINE. 243 

watched the progress of that deadly complaint, de- 
vouring its victim piecemeal. 

Often have I gone out from the presence of the 
dear sufferer, to meditate upon the amazing power 
of divine grace, which she abundantly possessed ; 
a rich treasure in an earthen vessel so deplorably 
marred as to make it doubly apparent that all the 
excellency of" that power was of God. I found it 
hard, in an early stage of my Christian experience, 
to reconcile the acuteness of her bodily anguish 
with those promises of holy writ which describe 
the believer as possessed of all things — godliness 
as having the promise of this life, as well as that 
which is to come — and the Lord as withholding 
no good thing from them that walk uprightly. I 
could not comprehend how such exquisite patience 
should be visited with tribulation so severe ; for I 
had still to learn, that the tribulation wrought the 
patience. Hundreds of timies have I paced up 
and down that confined path, murmuring against 
the cross that my friend so cheerfully bore ; and 
questioning the love that so grievously afflicted 
her. Sometimes the dumb boy, then in the first 
steps of instruction, would come to me, increasing 
my perplexity by showing that the same thoughts 
occupied his mind. In his imperfect phraseology, 
he would again and again say, * Poor Mrs. C. 
much hurt. What? God love Mrs. C? God 
hurt Mrs. C. What?' The word— what ! inter- 



244 THE JESSAMINE. 

rogatively repeated, with an impatient shake of the 
head, signified a desire for information. In this 
case, I could only reply, ' Yes, God loves Mrs. C. 
Poor Mrs. C. soon go to heaven.' Jack, who 
realized heavenly things in a way that few of us 
attain to, was content with this assurance, under 
the expectation of her immediate removal to glory : 
but I knew that she had, probably, many a long 
month to linger yet ; and as weeks passed away, 
Jack would come out with his embarassing ' What ? 
Mrs. C. very long pain ! What — God love Mrs. C. ?' 
I found her, one day, in her nice parlour, dress- 
ed as usual, with exquisite neatness, her poor arm 
supported in a sling of white muslin, and her pale 
cheek wearing the sorrowful smile that rarely left 
it. ' Have you had a tolerable night, dear friend?' 
I asked. She replied, ' I had no sleep at all ; the 
doctor dared not give me an anodyne, and the pain 
was so excessive, that I could not help weeping. 
However, a thought came into my mind that com- 
forted me. It occurred to me that I might have 
been brought up a Socinian ; and oh, dear lady, 
how dreadful it would have been, to acknowledge 
Jesus Christ as something less than God ! When 
I thought of the mercy that taught me from my 
early youth to confess Him as God; and the sove- 
reign grace that has more lately enabled me to see 
Him as my God, bearing my sins in His own body 
on the tree, oh, then my tears fell much faster; 



THE JESSAMINE. 245 

but they were full of joy ; and I learnt the value 
of the pain that kept me awake to recall this mer- 
cy to mind, and to meditate on the great love of 
my Saviour.' ' 

While she said this, her tears again stole forth ; 
but her countenance wore an aspect so heavenly, 
that I soon betook myself to the Jessamine walk, 
to Avonder why I had never thanked God for not 
allowing me to be born among Socinians. 

A whole year, I think, this blessed woman lin- 
gered in tortures indescribable ; and latterly she 
would not admit into her room any but those who 
were obliged to enter it ; so great was the delicacy 
of her feelings for others. She, however, used to 
speak from her bed to those in an adjoining apart- 
ment, the door being placed ajar, and very sweet 
was her conversation. One day, after a week of 
dreadful agony, she asked her maid to lift her from 
her bed, to try if a change of position would bring 
any relief ; she was accordingly, seated on a low 
chair ; and, laying her head on the girl's shoulder, 
in a very soft, but animated voice, she murmured, 
<Mary Heaven !' and instantly departed thither. 

I placed some delicate Jessamine flowers in her 
coffin : and most delicious it was to gaze upon her 
placid countenance, with a vivid recollection of her 
bitter sufferings, and an equally vivid assurance of 
her present bliss. Never did the beautiful hymn, 
commencing, *Ah, lovely appearance of death,' 
21* 



246 THE JESSAMINE. 

seem so appropriate, as when I repeated it beside 
her corpse : never did the high wall of the dark 
little garden, studded with shining white stars,, 
afford so sweet a meditation as on the close of that 
summer-eve. Three or four days after. Jack and 
I arose very early to see her remains committed 
to the ground, while the dew-drops were still upon 
the grass. His smile was triumphantly joyous, 
though tears stole down his cheeks, as he said^ 
'Yes, God loves Mrs., C. Good Mrs. C. gone to 
heaven. Yes, Jesus Christ loves Mrs. C.' 

I have frequently been led to consider the asser- 
tions of some Christians, that bodily suffering is 
not an evil : that, when in severe pain, they could 
desire still greater, as enabling them the more to 
glorify God ; and also that such inflictions are sent 
altogether as marks of distinguishing favour, not 
in punishment. T do not think that such was the 
view taken by my friend ; she appeared to regard 
the sufferings of her body as a chastisement, not 
joyous but grievous y but being to her, through 
divine grace, made an exercise of faith, patience, 
and love, it yielded most peaceable and beautiful 
fruits. I have been startled, many a time, by the 
rash and presumptuous complaints of those in 
prosperity, lamenting that they had no cross laid 
upon them, and envying the lot of their afflicted 
friends ; as though tribulation and anguish were 
the determined portion of all God's children. I 



THE JESSAMINE. 247 

grant thai the apostle assures us we must through 
much tribulation enter the kingdom of heaven ; 
and that all v/ho hve godly in Christ Jesus shall 
suffer persecution ; but I cannot see that it neces- 
sarily follows that we are to doubt our adoption, 
when the Lord, giving us liberally all things to 
enjoy, fills our hearts with food and gladness. 
Ease and prosperity are, in themselves, very try- 
ing to the Christian ; and he is apt enough, when 
so tried, finding his corruptions strong, and sin 
struggling for the dominion, to prescribe for him- 
self a course of temporal calamities, as the only 
effectual remedy ; instead of applying to the sanc- 
tifying aid of the Holy Spirit, who taught Paul no 
less how to abound, than how to suffer need. I 
have often admired the levelling simplicity of that 
concise portion of our beautiful litany, which bids 
us pray " In all time of our wealth, in all time of 
our tribulation, good Lord deliver us." One state 
is not a wit more secure than the other ; we are 
just as prone to make a popish purgatory of our 
afflictions, as we are to make a fool's paradise of 
our joys ; and sinful as it is to repine under the 
chastening rod, it appears even more inexcusable 
to grumble at the profusion of our temporal mer- 
cies. On the other hand, unless in some very 
peculiar cases, it seems to me quite as unbecoming 
to make a boast of our calamities, as to glory in 
our worldly possessions ; for what is it, in fact, but 



248 THE JESSAMINE. 

a covert vaunt of our patience and faith ? I have 
seen some dear sufferers, writhing under the most 
excruciating torments of acute disease, or pining 
in lengthened confinement to a sick room, or weep- 
ing, in the bitterness of their souls, a sudden be- 
reavment, 'which has left them comparatively alone 
upon earth ; — I have seen them compelled to hsten, 
while others, in the full enjoyment of health and 
prosperity, lectured them upon the enviableness of 
their lot : and required of them songs of mirth in 
their heaviness. God can, and does, give songs in 
the night of sorrow, heard by himself alone ; and 
undoubtedly, he also enables his people to rejoice, 
even outwardly, at the abundant consolations with 
which he outnumbers their light and momentary 
afflictions ; but I do not love to see a wounded 
spirit, lodged in a weak body, crammed, as it were, 
with the crude notions of others, who but know theo 
retically what their friend is sensibly experiencing. 
I am very sure that Mrs. C. was one of the 
most heavenly-minded persons I ever met with. 
Her rank in life did not bring her into what is 
called polite society, except among those who re 
cognized the tie of membership under one glori 
ous Head. Her education had not been of a supe 
rior order ; but alike in mind, manners and conver 
sation, the indwelling Spirit shed a lustre arouni 
her, which commanded respect from every one 
There was an humble dignity in her deportment^ 



THE JESSAMINE. 249 

that could awe the most reckless into submission 
to her calm and mild rebuke : and her sympathi- 
zing pastors came to her less to impart than to receive 
consolation, encouragement, and spiritual profit: 
while she, in the spirit of a little child, desired but 
to sit at their feet and learn. Now, I would sooner 
take the feelings of such a person for a rule where- 
by to judge, than the laboured conclusions of pro- 
found thinkers, on a point which, after all, they 
could but think upon : and I am sure that Mrs. C. 
regarded pain as a positive evil, the bitter and hu- 
miliating fruit of sin, judicially inflicted, to rebuke 
and chasten ; and by no means to be glorified in, 
as an especial privilege, even by God's children. 
I have seen the tears stand in her eyes, while her 
look expressed somewhat of Job's mournful re- 
proof, to the injudicious friends, who undertook to 
prove that her bodily torments were so many calls 
for exultation and delight : but, when left to draw 
her own deductions from the Lord's dealings with 
her, as explained by his word, and appHed by the 
Spirit, she would sweetly acknowledge, as in- the 
instance of that sleepless night, how much of mer- 
cy her severest trials were made the means of 
conveying to her soul. Had recovery been possible, 
I make no doubt that she would gladly have used 
every means to throw off her dreadful malady ; 
and most touching was the fervency of her thank- 
fulness to the Father of mercies, when a few 



250 THE JESSAMINE. 

hours of sleep had been permitted to refresh her 
wearied body. Yet she desired to depart, and to 
be with Christ, knowing it to be far better than a 
lengthened sojourn upon earth ; and since the Lord 
had appointed that hngering and agonizing disease, 
as her path to the grave, she was content. To 
say that, if left to her own choice, she would 
not have preferred a less torturing disease, would 
be more than I should feel justified in asserting : but 
I am sure that she believed that to be best for her 
which the Lord had chosen ; and that she never 
desired it to be otherwise than as He willed it. 

The Jessamine, at all times and in all places, is 
lovely: but that on the antique wall, breathing 
fragrance on my evening promenade, was certain- 
ly the richest and the sweetest that I ever met 
with. No flower can be more simply elegant in 
form, more untainted in the purity of its perfect 
whiteness, or more refreshingly odoriferous in its 
delicate scent. There is, besides, something in 
its utter inability to sustain itself, that farther illus- 
trates the Christian character. The Jessamine 
will aspire and grow to a considerable height, butit 
must be upheld throughout, or it sinks downward, 
and defiles in the dust of the earth those beauties 
which were formed to expand towards heaven. 
Let but a single shoot break loose from its sup- 
port, and you see it straggling far away, with an 
earthward tendency, the sport of every wind. Is 



THE JESSAMINE. 251 

not the type obvious ? I once remarked a stray- 
ing branch of the Jessamine, crossed in its way 
by the shoot of a neighbouring ivy, and firmly 
fixed to the wall by the steady progress of its 
more adhesive companion. Here, the strong bore 
the infirmities of the weak, by love serving another, 
and becoming a fellow-helper in the faith to a less 
stable believer. It was beautiful to see how, from 
this point, the Jessamine shot upwards, bearing to a 
great height the fragrant blossoms that would other- 
wise have been trampled under foot : and the infer- 
ence was cheering too. I have often thought that 
I must write a chapter on the ivy, which is really the 
most patronizing of plants ; though like the patrons 
of this world, it sometimes destroys its protege. 
But to return to the Jessamine. It is long since I 
gazed upon the old wall of dear Mrs. C.'s humble 
garden, and many an experimental lesson have I 
since been made to learn, of the necessity both for 
prop and pruning-knife, among the Lord's weak 
straggling plants. But there is something so sweet 
in the recollection of my lonely walks, where in- 
deed there was scarcely room for two to pace the 
garden, that I rank the Jessamine, with its pointed 
leaves and starry flowers, among the most precious 
of my store : and if ever I possess a cottage of 
my own, it shall clothe the walls, and peep into 
the casements, with its well-remembered story 
of patience, piety, and peace. 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 



I HAVE already mentioned that I was nearly deter- 
red from taking up two or three subjects, by find- 
ing that Hervey had left me nothing to say respect- 
ing the particular flowers connected with them. 
I shall, however, venture to pursue the original 
plan, at least with regard to one of these, especial- 
ly as I have very little to say of the type ; and a 
great deal of that to which I have attached it, as a 
memento. 

I never could look upon the Passion-flower so 
enthusiastically as some do, nor find much gratifi- 
cation in following up the imaginary resemblance 
to that whence its name is derived : and, strange 
as it may appear, although peculiarly fond of 
graphic representations, I have rather an aversion, 
as well to those which assume to pourtray the 
awful scene of Calvary, as to the incongruous host 
of Madonnas and holy families ; which, from their 
utter dissimilarity one to another, irresistibly im- 
press my mind with the idea of gross fiction, and 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 253 

rather cloud than assist the mental perception of 
what is so simply and sweetly set forth in the writ- 
ten word. Perhaps a consciousness of the idola- 
trous purpose to which such pictures have been 
perverted, may have contributed to produce this 
effect. 

The Passion-flower was not placed on my list 
of favourites, until I met with it — can any reader 
guess where ? — growing against the walls of a 
Roman Catholic chapel. It then became endeared 
to me indeed ; and holds, to this day, a high place 
among the most touching of my lovely remem- 
brancers. I was dwelling in Ireland, not far from 
a flourishing nunnery, which it was the fashion for 
strangers to visit : but I had never felt any incli- 
nation so to do, until a friend mentioned to me 
that, among the children of the convent school, 
there was a deaf mute, whom they could by no 
means teach. My interest was excited : and, as I 
knew something of the mode of instructing such, 
I readily accompanied my friend to the convent, to 
proffer my help. As we passed along, she laugh- 
ingly remarked, ' I did not think any thing would 
have tempted you to visit such a place.' I replied, 
* Where God is pleased to point out a path of duty, 
I care not in what direction it may lie. As a mat- 
ter of idle curiosity, you would not have prevailed 
on me to go there.' 

It was with some trepidation that I entered, for 
22 



254 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

the first time, a building to which the light reading 
of former days had attached many romantic ideas ; 
while the better instruction of a later period had 
taught me to view it in its real character, as a 
strong-hold of superstition and self-righteous delu- 
sion. The nun, who had especially taken an in- 
terest in the little dumb girl, was presently intro- 
duced to me ; and never did I behold a more en- 
gaging creature. Tall, graceful, and bearing about 
her the manners of polished society, her aspect 
was that of the most winning sweetness, the most 
unaifected humility : and when, by a very short 
process, I convinced her that every difficulty might 
be overcome, and the child instructed to spell and 
write, the sparkling animation of her looks, the 
eager delight with which she listened to my direc- 
tions, and the fervency of her eloquent thanks, 
while, with glistening eyes she caressed the child 
whose welfare she was planning, all attracted me 
irresistibly. I do not know how far the picturesque 
effect of her habit, which I never before had seen 
— the loose folds of a long black robe gathered in- 
to a broad belt, with its depending rosary, and the 
graceful veil w^hich, falling back from her beautiful 
brow, nearly swept the ground, — might tend to 
deepen the impression ; but certainly I believed 
her to be, without exception, the most fascinating 
creature I had ever seen : and when she asked me 
to walk around the garden with her, I readily 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 255 

agreed, glad of any excuse to prolong the inter- 
view. 

She showed me her plants, and brought me to 
the entrance of a building, which I supposed might 
be a school-house, where a handsome flight of 
stairs led to two large folding doors. These she 
pushed open, and I entered : but to my real dis- 
may, I found myself opposite a splendid altar, 
profusely decorated with images, covered with 
gilding, and variously ornamented: above all, was- 
elevated the crucifix ; and, on turning to look for 
my companion, I saw her nearly prostrate in the 
door-way, her arms crossed on her bosom, and her 
head almost touching the ground, in profound ad- 
oration of that idolatrous image. The impulse of 
my feelings was to make a precipitate retreat ; but 
the nun arose, and taking my arm, led me onwards. 
The chapel was very magnificent, but I shrunk 
from the contemplation, and confined my remarks 
to the beautiful prospect, from its window, of the 
garden beneath ; and hastened our return. The 
nun retreated slowly backwards with many genu- 
flexions : and I almost ran out, rejoicing when the 
richly carved doors once more closed upon a scene 
so indescribably painful to me. 

My gentle conductress redoubled her attentions 
to cheer me ; for the sudden depression of my 
spirits could net but be visible to her : and as we 
left the building, she gathered a Passion-flower 



256 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

from a luxuriant plant, that mantled its walls, pre - 
senting it with a graceful expression of her grati- 
tude, and saying it was in itself a poor token, but 
rich in the sacred resemblance which it bore to 
what we both held most holy. 

I took an affectionate leave of her: and on 
shewing the flower to a friend, with an account of 

its fair donor, she replied, 'Poor E ! It could 

be no other, for she is all that you describe, and 
there is not one like her in the place.' She then 
proceeded to tell me, that my nun was a young 
lad}^, educated in the Protestant faith ; but led to 
apostatize under strange circumstances. What 
these were, she could not inform me : but several 
years after I learnt her story. It was briefly this : 
her father, a Romanist, had married a Protestant, 
with the customary iniquitous agreement, that the 
sons should be brought up in his religion — the 
daughters in hers. Daughters only were born, and 
they were educated in the Protestant faith ; but, 
on their father's death, a number of priests assem- 
bled, to perform offices for the departed soul, du- 
ring the time that the corpse lay in the house ; and 
so well did they improve their opportunity, that the 
widow and all her daughters renounced Protestant- 
ism shortly after the funeral, with the exception of 
E . 

To overcome her conscientious repugnance, the 
most nefarious means were resorted to ; a pretend- 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 257 

ed miracle, performed by some relic, failed to con- 
vert, though it staggered her : and they then had 
recourse to one of the foul stratagems, so common 
in gaining proselytes from among the young and 
imaginative. They contrived that, in the dead of 
night, a figure resembling her deceased father, of 
whom she was very fond, should appear to her, 
stating that he had obtained permission to re-visit 
the earth, for the sacred purpose of solemnly as- 
suring her, that the faith in which he died, was the 
only passport to heaven. This succeeded — she 
never recovered from the shock : but she renounc- 
ed her religion, and took the veil. 

Had I known this at the time, I cannot, say to 
what lengths my indignation might have carried 
me : but the bare fact of her having apostatized 
was sufficient to rouse my zeal. I soon repeated 
my visit ; and faithfully told her how very far I 
was from agreeing in her views ; while the good 
nuns, on their part, had, as I found, already engaged 
the help of a seminary of Jesuits, not far off, to 
proselytize me ; and poor E. was permitted to fol- 
low her affectionate inclination for my society, 
under the charitable hope that she might save my 
soul. I look back with emotions of trembling 
thankfulness to that time : for I was very young 
indeed in the faith, and totally ignorant of contro- 
versy. I knew that popery was idolatry ; and 1 
knew that idolatry was a damnable sin ; but be- 
22* 



258 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

yond ihis, I had not examined the subject. The 
mode pursued with me was to extort a promise 
that I would carefully study whatever books the 
nun should lend me ; and I gave it, on condition 
that I might write out, and that she would read, 
my opinions on them. A parcel was presently 
sent, selected by the Jesuits ; and I sat down to 
examine one of the most specious and dangerous 
works ever penned ; (Milner's ' End of Contro- 
versy.') I adhered to my engagement, and thanks 
be to God for his unspeakable mercy in guarding 
me as he did ! I could not unravel the artful web 
of deep and diabolical sophistry : but I saw and 
felt that it was essentially opposed to the truth of 
Scripture. I wept over the book, in grief and 
perplexity, but the Lord led me to pray, and then, 
as by a bright beam breaking forth, I saw the 
mystery of iniquity in all its deceivableness of un 
righteousness. Prayer had cut the knot which rea 
son could not disentangle, and I was enabled to 
set forth the truth, in a latter, to the poor nun, so 
as to exhibit the contrasting error in a forcible 
point of view. Other books were sent and read, 
and commented on ; and the Lord overruled my 
perilous course of study to bringing me acquaint 
ed with the depths of this fearful delusion ; but, 
at length, the dear nun, who had been carefully 
guarded from any private interviews with me, after 
they commenced operations, managed to let me 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 259 

know, in writing, that she was not allowed to see 
a line of my comments on the books : all being 
committed, by her superior, to their spiritual ad- 
visers. She justified this proceeding, it is true ; 
but I have reason to think it produced a strong 
effect on her naturally ingenuous and honourable 
mind. 

Many a time did we try to see one another 
alone ; and so anxious was I, that I once asked 
her to go to the chapel with me, and talk there : 
but an old nun was beforehand with us, and was 
seated in a stall, conning her book when we enter- 
ed. E. glanced towards her, made a sign to me, 
and proceeded to talk of gardening. Shortly after 
this, they resolved to try what effect an imposing 
ceremony would have on me. I had, of course, 
refused to be present at the celebration of mass : 
but now, two nuns were to profess, and take the 
veil ; and so resolved were they to have me, that 
not only were two front seats reserved, but the 
whole service was fairly written out by the hand 
of E., with a full explanation of the ceremonies, 
and sent to me with tickets for my mother and 
myself: while all that affection could dictate, or 
flattery prompt, or animated description pourtray 
to excite curiosity, was said in the accompanying 
letter. I felt grieved to appear ungrateful for 
such kindness ; I gave them credit for the most 
obliging intentions, and perhaps, for a moment, I 



260 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

almost wished to overcome my scurples, on so 
interesting an occasion : but in proportion as I be- 
came acquainted with the fearful character of a 
religion clearly opposed to the gospel of Christ, 
and convinced of the rank idolatry perpetrated in 
its stated devotions, I felt the wickedness, the in- 
gratitude, the dishonesty of sanctioning in any 
way, whatever, those grievous insults offered to 
my redeeming God. I felt that every Protestant 
who complacently looks on, becomes a participator 
in those rites ; and I really dared not go into a 
place where I had no warrant whatever for believ- 
ing that God would go with me, under the pre- 
sumptuous expectation that He would wait for me 
at the door, again to enter into what he had deign- 
ed to make His temple, after its wanton and un- 
called-for agreement with idols. 

Accordingly I wrote as delicate and grateful a 
refusal as I could ; and my heart danced so lightly 
in my bosom after it, that I trust there is no dan- 
ger of my ever trying what sort of sensation a con- 
trary line of conduct would produce. 

My poor nun, meanwhile, was very rapidly 
sinking : her health had never been good, from the 
period of her apostacy, and she was now, at least 
so I was told, confined to her apartment. I made 
many visits to the convent, vainly desiring to see 
her ; until very shortly before I left the neighbour- 
hood, I called, rather as an act of civility, than 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 261 

with any hope of finding poor E. ; but while sit- 
ting in the parlour, I was startled by her bursting 
into the room, so changed in appearance that I 
scarcely recognized her; and in great agitation. 
She sat down by me, and throwing her arm round 
my neck said, ' I was resolved to see you once 
more.' Before another word could be spoken, 
three elderly nuns entered ; and with looks that 
expressed both alarm and anger, actually forced 

her away, one of them saying, that Sister was 

not well enough to be spoken to, and ought not to 
have quitted her room. The impression left on 
my mind by this strange interview was painful in 
one sense — in another joyous. That the interest- 
ing nun was under actual constraint, and severely 
dealt with, I could not doubt : that her mind was 
awakened to the fearful peril of her apostate state, 
I had strong reason to believe : and well I knew 
that if the Lord was working, none could let it. 
Often and bitterly have I reproached myself, that 
I did not more boldly and more unequivocally, 
during our first interviews, bear a distinct testi- 
mony against her dreadful delusion ; but I relied 
on her performance of the promise, which she 
certainly intended to fulfil, of reading my remarks 
on the books that were lent to me. As it was, a 
consciousness of having failed in using the means, 
threw me in deeper humility at the footstool of the 
Lord, in fervent intercession for my friend. I 



262 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

continued thus to pray, for about a year ; and was 
much struck when nearly four years afterwards, I 
learnt that her death had taken place at the end of 
that time ; and, from the same source, I also 
gleaned the particulars already related, respecting 
the means of her perversion from the truth — or 
rather from nominal protestantism, for she was not 
then in any degree spiritually enlightened — and I 
rejoiced in the sweet hope, that in the struggle so 
apparent at our last meeting, and in which she 
probably lost her life, she had overcome by the 
blood of the Lamb ; renouncing the idolatrous 
faith into which she had been so foully entrapped. 
The secrets of her dying chamber, none can tell. 
Many a recantation openly made, is no where 
registered but in heaven, and in the dark bosoms 
of those who suppress the tale. Beloved E ! I 
cannot look upon the Passion-flower, spreading 
wide upon the garden wall, or climbing the trelHs 
before me, but I think I see the soft white hand 
of my pensive nun reaching among its branches, 
and behold her graceful figure, with its bend of 
unaffected humility, as she gave me the memento; 
her eloquent eyes bespeaking more than either ac- 
tion or words could express. 

I remember, also, the disgust with which I once 
witnessed the grossly familiar manners of some 
bulky priests, who came to the door of the room 
unaware of my being in it — manners evidently 



THE PASSION-FLOWER. 263 

most unpleasing to E., who, nevertheless, was 
constrained to wear an aspect of submission, when 
her hand was warmly seized by those spiritual 
pastors. I can likewise remember, that the coun- 
tenance of the foremost became most protentously 
overcast, when his eye fell on me ; and that it was 
the last time of my ever being permitted to con- 
verse freely with the nun. In those days the the- 
ological treasures of Dens had not been commu- 
nicated to the laity ; but their recent disclosure 
has furnished me with a key to many puzzling 
recollections. 

Oh that 1 could so speak as to reach the hearts 
and consciences of those parents who, while pro- 
fessing the Protestant faith, can be so awfully 
blinded to their sacred obhgations, as to trust their 
children within the blighting atmosphere of popish 
lands, and popish seminaries ! They know not, 
because they will not investigate, the perils of 
such a situation : the vain and hollow acquisition 
of accomplishments, which, when gained, only 
prove so many ties to bind those youthful spirits 
more fast to an ungodly world, becomes, through 
Satan's devices, such a bait to them, that even the 
life of the soul is overlooked in the computation, 
and heaven itself cannot outweigh the importance 
of artificial manners, and the fluent pronunciation 
of a foreign tongue. The direst curse of old Ba- 
bel seems to be reserved for this generation, de- 



264 THE PASSION-FLOWER. 

livering over our young men and maidens to the 
fatal wiles of modern Babylon. The division of 
languages thus leads to dividing many a soul from 
its God ; and this indulgence of the " pride of 
life," this fulfilling of " the desires of the mind," 
will furnish a theme for endless lamentation to 
many who, in their greedy pursuit of outward dis- 
tinction, close their eyes to the scriptural warnings 
which God has not given in vain, however little 
we may regard them. 

This chapter is sombre — its subject and its type 
are equally so. No external brightness rests upon 
the Passion-flower ; but that from which it takes 
its name contains even the brightness of the glory 
of God. Dark, sad, and comfortless was all that 
met my view^, in the brief and clouded course of 
my poor E., but the eye of faith, brightened by 
the recollection of many a fervent prayer sent up 
on her behalf, can discern a glorious beam, em- 
anating from the land that is very far off, with the 
figure of the nun, among a multitude of " backslid- 
ing children," whom the Lord has reclaimed, re- 
joicing in the splendours that surround the throne 
of the Lamb. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 



While engaged in writing these simple memorials, 
I have often been led to think on a friend, before 
whose eye the pages must frequently have brought 
scenes and characters no less familiar to her than 
to myself. Circumstances had parted us, many 
years ago ; and under the pressure of our respec- 
tive cares, amid the multiplying demands on our 
attention, the correspondence had died away : but 
many a sweet anticipation has gladdened my 
thoughts, as they dwelt on a future re-union, either 
in her own green isle, or wheresoever the Lord 
might permit us to renew the intercourse which, 
for three years, subsisted, to our mutual delight, 
almost without a day's separation. Together we 
watched the fading of the interesting snow-drop — 
poor Theresa ! and our tears were mingled over 
the tidings of her blessed transition to the world 
of happy spirits : together we rejoiced over the 
first manifestations of divine grace in the little 
dumb boy, who was devotedly attached to hen 
23 



266 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

Her hand supplied the flowers that adorned the 
cradle of the Irish baby ; and often did she hasten 
to present me with the first and freshest buds of 
May, assuring me of her fervent prayers on behalf 
of the dear though distant, and to her unknown, 
antitype of those fragrant blossoms. To her I 
took the Passion-flower ; and the nun, whom she 
personally knew, formed the theme of numberless 
conversations between us ; while there also, I had 
the help of her persevering prayers. So intimate- 
ly was she acquainted with all most interesting to 
me, that I have almost marvelled she should not 
have broken through the lengthened silence, won 
to renew the correspondence by the touching of a 
chord in her sensitive bosom, that never failed to 
respond. Alas ! I little thought that she had gone 
to rejoice with those who had awakened so intense 
an interest in us : and that the Lemon-plant, or 
Verbena, a sweet shrub which I had, from the 
first day of our acquaintance, held in a manner 
sacred to her, was soon to be placed among the 
mementos of the dead. 

As I have before remarked, my floral associations 
are very arbitrary. They are sometimes founded 
on a resemblance, traced between the individual 
and the flower ; but more frequently upon some 
incident that has connected them : and then I love 
to follow up the union, by making out some actual 
point of likeness. Not a few of mv best-loved 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 267 

friends, thus fancifully identified, are still bright 
and blooming as their gentle representatives ; and 
very delightful it is to behold them together ; 
more particularly if the friend and the flower un- 
expectedly meet, the first after a prolonged ab- 
sence, the other in the earliest beauty of its an- 
nual re-appearance. The May-flower has greeted 
me thus ; and others not unconnected with the 
blossom of May ; and my heart has bounded with 
a joy that few can realize — with a fond anticipation 
of future re-appearances, even on earth ; and the 
more sober, but far more satisfying prospect of 
eternal re-union in that better land where the 
flowers fade not, and friends can part no more. 

But I am wandering from the Lemon-plant, 
and from her whose memory is like it, fragrant 
and ever-green. Before we met I had heard so 
much of her extraordinary attainments and ac- 
knowledged superiority in all that is both brilliant 
and valuable, that I rather expected something 
more to be admired than loved : and froze myself 
as hard as people can freeze, amid the sun-shine 
of Irish society, under the impression that if I took 
a fancy to Marie, she would prove too abstract a 
person to reciprocate it. How much was I mista- 
ken ! Never in my life, did I behold a softer per- 
sonification of all that is modest in the truly femi- 
nine character; arrayed, too, in the meek and 



268 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

quiet spirit wherewith God loves to adorn his 
dearest children. 

Her dress, her manner, every feature of her in- 
telligent and pensive countenance, bespoke the un- 
assuming disciple of a lowly Master. Elegant, 
she could not but be, fashionable she had been, 
and, as she told me, proud and overbearing. I 
was forced to believe it, for Marie was infinitely 
superior to the affectation of self-condemning hu- 
mility ; but years of close observation did not ena- 
ble me to detect a vestige of such characteristics. 
It often astonished me that she, who so dearly 
prized in others the gifts of intellect and superior 
information, should be so utterly insensible of her 
own elevated scale in both respects ; but I believe 
it to have been, that having long traded in goodly 
pearls, she so justly appreciated the one pearl of 
great price, which she had happily found, that her 
former collection faded into absolute nothingness 
in the comparison. 

One hour passed in her society sufficed to rivet 
my regard ; for, interested by some painful cir- 
cumstances that she had previously heard, as con- 
nected with my situation, she laid aside her habitual 
reserve, and bestowed on me such sweet attentions 
as would have won a much colder heart. It was 
on that occasion that she gave me half of a sprig 
of the Lemon-plant from her bosom ; and find- 
ing that it was a favourite shrub with me, she 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 269 

reared one from a cutting, to perfume my little 
study. The growth of our friendship, however, 
outstripped that of the plant, so that before the 
slip had taken root, Marie and I were daily com- 
panions. 

Our earliest walks were beside a river, the 
banks of which were fringed with tall trees ; or 
along a road, where the lofty mountain of Slieve- 
na-man towered, many a mile to the right, while 
in nearer prospect, across the river, was one of 
the proudest and most ancient of Ireland's embat- 
tled castles. After a while, we became so ena- 
moured of the precincts within that castle's walls, 
that our more extended rambles were given up, for 
the delightful privilege of sauntering beneath the 
rich foliage of its venerable trees, and talking over 
tales of the olden time, dear to the children of 
Erin. The noble proprietors, on leaving the 
country for a time, had given me the privilege of 
free entrance at all hours, by a private door, into 
the grounds ; with permission to extend my 
rambles into every room of the castle. Often 
have we availed ourselves of this indulgence to 
gaze on the antique tapestry, to examine the curi- 
ous reliques of other days, when one of the purest 
patriots that ever drew Irish breath, held vice-regal 
state beneath those battlements ; or to promenade 
the long saloon, enriched by the portraits of man)'- 
generations, and terminating in a projecting window, 
23* 



270 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

that, from an almost incredible height, looked com- 
mandingly down upon the slow deep river which 
guarded the foot of that impregnable fortress. 
My beloved companion had not, in becoming 
spiritual, lost a whit of her patriotism — would 
that none ever did so ! — and she was proud of the 
castle, and looked on the waving honours of its 
surrounding trees, with a depth of feeling truly 
Irish. Indeed, under their shadow I seemed to 
become Irish also ; for it is from that spot, and 
from that period, I date my fervent devotion to 
dear Ireland and her cause, — a devotion which, I 
hope and trust, will abide in the veins of my heart 
till they cease to throb with life. 

But there were traits in Marie's character more 
endearing than even her nationality. She was a 
truly consistent Christian ; her views of divine 
things were uncommonly deep and clear ; and 
the powers of her fine mind were unreservedly 
consecrated to .His service who had so richly gifted 
it. She was slow in asserting an opinion, because 
she always made sure of her ground ; and rarely, 
if ever, had she occasion to retract it. Great 
decision of character was tempered with such 
softness of manner, and powerful arguments were 
so modestly put forth, that even a child might feel 
as if on an equal footing with her, while imbibing 
the lessons of wisdom. How tender she was in 
this respect, a little instance may shew : I never 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 271 

could forget the circumstance, nor think of it 
without emotion. 

We once, when setting out on a long walk 
besides the river, started a subject on which our 
opinions considerably differed : it was something 
connected with the grand doctrine of redemption. 
My notions were very crude, but I was abundant- 
ly dogmatical in proclaiming them. Marie had 
the better of the argument throughout ; and not a 
word was spoken on either side, approaching to 
intemperance of feeling. 

We had not quite concluded when we reached 
my door, and stood awhile to finish the discussion, 
as the dinner-hour forbade a longer interview. It 
ended by my conceding to her the palm of ortho- 
doxy, which I did, I believe, with a good grace ; 
and we parted most affectionately, agreeing to 
meet on the morrow, at noon. The followina: 
morning, before I was well awake, a billet was 
brought to my bedside, the contents of which 
amazed me. It was from Marie, written at three 
o'clock in the morning, under the most extreme 
depression of spirits, occasioned by an apprehen- 
sion which had seized her that she might, in the 
earnestness of our discussion, have said, or looked, 
something calculated to pain me : and the idea 
was, she said, intolerable, that she perhaps had 
added a mental pang to the many I was called on 
to endure, by some seemingly unkind remark, or 



272 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

overbearing assumption. She had wept at the 
thought, had prayed over it ; had acknowledged it 
to her mother, and now took the pen to implore 
my forgiveness, if such should have been the case. 
A more simple, touching effusion I never perused ; 
and when I had written my assurance that nothing 
of the kind, nothing even remotely approaching it 
had occurred, I sat down to meditate on the im- 
mense distance to which the once proud Marie 
had advanced on the heavenly road, beyond me, 
who said a thousand peevish things almost daily to 
my most indulgent friends, and rarely repented of 
them. 

Another distinguishing feature in her sweet 
character, was the perfect absence of egotism. 
With feelings exquisitely refined, she struggled to 
conceal their delicate sensitiveness, lest minds of 
a rougher mould might feel ill at ease in her com- 
pany. This species of self-denial I have scarce- 
ly ever seen practised, except by my beloved 
Marie ; but in her I have marked it constantly de- 
veloped. On the same high and generous princi- 
ple, she concealed her extraordinary attainments in 
science : she was deeply versed in even very ab- 
struse philosophy, and her acquaintance with 
learned languages was at once extensive and solid. 
She had books that would have graced the library 
of a university professor, and used them too, but 
they were never seen on her table, or her shelves;] 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 273 

nor did a hint of capability for, or delight in such 
studies ever escape her, even to me. I verily be- 
lieve that, to the day of our separation, she did 
not know I was acquainted with the nuuiber or 
nature of her accomplishments : yet she had no 
friend so intimate as I was. 

I recollect that one day she was showing me a 
little circular flower-stand, where she had arranged 
her choice plants, just before the window of her 
favourite boudoir. I looked around me : the room 
was not large, but delightfully fitted up. There 
was her piano on one side, and her harp in the 
corner ; her book-shelves elegantly arranged, with 
drawings hung round, every one of which she said, 
was a memento of something dear to her heart. 
The love of a mother, who perfectly appreciated, 
and almost idolized this one survivor of her do- 
mestic circle, had contrived many little useful and 
ornamental appendages ; while the flower-stand, 
loaded with odoriferous plants, basked in the plea- 
sant light of a window which overlooked her little 
garden, where her two pet families of rare carna- 
tions and splendid tiger-lilies flourished to her 
heart's content. I remember thus addressing her, 
* Marie, you perplex and almost make me discon- 
tented. You are a child of God, yet have no 
cross.' She looked at me, with a short laugh of 
surprize, then, while her aspect softened into deep 
humility, she answered, * I am, by divine grace, a 



274 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

child of God, loaded wilh innumerable blessings 
by my heavenly Father; every w^ant supplied, 
every wish gratified. But don't doubt that, when 
he sees fit, he will find a cross for me.' She pres- 
ently after brought a miniature, and laid it before 
nie, asking if I knew who it represented. I re- 
plied, t had seen some one like it, but could not 
tell where. Her mother, who had joined us, said, 
^ Five years before you met, that was a most strik- 
ing likeness of Marie.' 

I gazed in astonishment, comparing the lofty and 
spirited mein, the brilliant glow of youthful beauty, 
and deep rich auburn tint of a profuse head of hair, 
as represented in the minature, with the meek 
quiet aspect, the faded complexion, and the very 
thin locks of pale yellow, that marked my friend. 
She sat quite still during the scrutiny, then said, 
* It really was a surprising likeness, taken just be- 
fore I lost my darling brother.' Her tears flowed, 
and, smihng through them, she added, while closing 
the miniature, 'You must not suppose that I had 
no troubles to bring me to the cross.' 

This was the only allusion that she ever made 
to former trials ; but the incident sunk deep into 
my mind, showing me the Lord's mercy to his 
dear child, in giving her a season of calm enjoy- 
ment after severe tossings on a stormy sea. Dear, 
gentle Marie ! it was not the combination of ex 
lernal things, that, gratifying her taste, produced 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 275 

such an atmosphere of tranquil happiness around 
her : it was the calm and holy frame of a spirit 
subdued, a heart attuned, under the hand of sancti- 
fying grace. She was eminently devout, and had 
a method in all her exercises ; a methodical ar- 
rangement of her time, which conduces, beyond 
any other mere means, to the consistency, the use- 
fulness, the self-possession of a child of God. A 
perfect knowledge of herself gave her infinite ad- 
vantage over those who had more superficially, or 
more partially investigated their own characters. 
Beholding continually her original and actual sin- 
fulness, her failures in attempting to follow the 
steps of a perfect Guide, and all the secret iniquity 
of a heart naturally most proudly averse from god- 
liness ; beholding these things in the sight of the 
Omniscient, she was kept from the fatal snare of 
thinking of herself more highly than she ought to 
think ; and thus no slight, no rudeness, no sevei- 
ity of remark, could ruffle even the surface of her 
patient temper. With all this she was exceeding 
cheerful, and by her frequent flashes of genuine 
humour often won a smile, when no one else could 
have extorted it. 

In many points, Marie, resembled D. Like 
him she owed all to the sanctifying influence of 
the divine Teacher ; and the fruits of the Spirit 
were very similarly manifested in them. He knew 
her not ; but I have often, in conversing with D. 



276 THE LEMON PLANT. 

dwelt on her character to an interested listener. 
He said he should much like to meet with her : — 
and they have met ! It is an overpowering 
thought, what a numerous company are now as- 
sembled in heaven, from among those whom I 
loved on earth. Oh, that it might quicken me 
more in following them, who, through faith and 
patience, inherit the promises ! In no instance do 
I, knowingly, embelhsh the portraits that I sketch 
in these chapters ; and when comparing myself 
with them, the immeasurable distance at which 
they left me in the race, is not only humbling, but 
alarming. We are too indolent : too ready to re- 
gard with complacency our acknowledged deficien- 
cies, and to rest in that knowledge, as though the 
consciousness of standing still would serve us as 
well as pressing forward in the race. Unless we 
admit the Popish doctrine of supererogatory merit 
— from which may the Lord deliver us ! — and con- 
sider these dear children of God as having done 
more than was required of them, we must needs 
be startled to find ourselves doing so much less. 
Neither is this a legal view : not one of those 
chronicled in these pages, held any other doctrine 
than that of salvation by faith alone, through grace 
alone, as the free, sovereign, unmerited gift of 
God; but those who adhered to it the most tena- 
ciously, were invariably the most zealous of good 



THE LEMON-PLANT. 277 

works, the most diligent in business, and the most 
eager in following after perfectness. 

It has struck me as remarkable, that, from the 
time of dear Marie rearing a lemon-plant for me, 
I have never been without one, until within the 
last year. That which I had long nursed, died ; 
and I kept the dry unsightly stalk among my flour- 
ishing plants, more than half a year, in the vague 
hope that it might sprout again ; or under a fond 
feeling of reluctance quite to lose the memento. 
T plucked it up only a few days before I learnt the 
fact of Marie's departure to a better place ; and 
now the sweet shrub must resume its station, a 
cherished memento of what I can no more see on 
earth. The peculiarly healthful fragrance of those 
slender leaves, their rapid growth, and the delicacy 
of their pale verdure, all are in keeping with the 
traits of Marie's character, most vividly impressed 
on my mind — traits that led me, from the com- 
mencement of our intercourse, to place her first 
and highest on my list of female acquaintance, nor 
do I expect to meet with her equal among women. 
Yet what was, what is she ? A wretched, guilty 
sinner ; saved, washed, justified, and sanctified, in 
the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of 
our God. Those accomplishments, to the attain- 
ment of which so many valuable hours were sacri- 
ficed, what were they, to an immortal being, sent 
24 



278 THE LEMON-PLANT. 

into this world to fight her way through hosts of 
infernal foes, encompassing and inhabiting a body 
of sin and death ? Nothing ! less than nothing and 
vanity ! 

The details connected with my beloved Marie's 
history, would far surpass, in touching and heart- 
thrilling interest, those of any individual to whom 
I have yet alluded ; but her character needed not 
the aid of such contingent circumstances to render 
it engaging in the eyes of those who knew her ; 
nor does it require that aid to make it attractive to 
those who love to see a contemporary, adorned in 
like manner as the holy women of old adorned 
themselves. I could have made my readers weep 
with me ; but I would rather lead them to reflect 
and to pray, encouraged by the exhibition of what 
God wrought in my Marie, and what he is equally 
able, equally willing to work in them also. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

Among the most interesting of the many deep 
mysteries that invite inquiry, above, around, and 
within us, one, not the least attractive to me, has 
long been the communion, that an infant soul, or 
rather the soul of an infant, holds with its God. 
To deny the existence of such communion would 
be rash— to substantiate such denial, I think, would 
be impossible. Even those who limit infant salva- 
tion to the seed of believers, and to the baptized, 
which I do not, must own that the disembodied 
spirit of an infant can become a participator in the 
joys of heaven, however early it may be called 
away; and surely, in an earthly creature, shapen 
in wickedness, conceived in sin, and born under 
the curse, with the latent seeds of every evil in- 
herent in its nature, there must be a work wrought, 
to fit it for the habitations of unsuUied purity and 
everlasting joy. That a soul must be regenerate 
by the power of the Holy Ghost, before it can 
enter the kingdom of heaven, is readily admitted : 



280 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

and that God can so regenerate a child, even be- 
fore its eyes have opened to behold the light of 
day, we have distinct proof in Scripture. His 
work accomplished, will any one venture to assert, 
that., because the undeveloped state of the mental 
faculties, and feebleness of the bodily organs, pre- 
clude the manifestation to us of what is passing 
between the soul and its God, therefore nothing 
does pass ? I cannot believe it. I remember an 
instance of a confirmed idiot, whose faculties up 
to the age of thirty or forty, had acquired no great- 
er degree of expansion than was seen in the cra- 
dle ; but who, during her last illness, at that age, 
gave most incontestible proofs of a glorious work 
wrought in her soul, by the power of divine grace, 
which she seemed enabled to communicate to those 
about her, for their special encouragement in tasks 
so apparently hopeless : for, in other things, she 
was an idiot to the last. Now, of all cases, the 
infant and the idiot most nearly assimilate — I 
speak, of course, of extremely young infants — and 
I am assured that God can — that he does — work 
in the soul, without the customary medium of the 
bodily and mental faculties. Who, by searching, 
can here trace his steps ? No one : but it is a 
very sweet thought to engage us over the cradle 
of a baby ; sweeter still, when we look upon its 
coffin. 

When the Lord has willed it, that some tender 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 281 

babe should be carried to bis bosom, before it has 
tasted the cup of mental or spiritual distress, this 
work goes on. Those who choose, may limit it to 
a particular class: I firmly believe it of every 
child of Adam, whose days are numbered and 
ended before " they by reason of use, have their 
senses exercised to discern both good and evil." 
1 do not suppose that an early death brings them 
necessarily within the bonds of the covenant : but 
I do believe that, being chosen in Christ, along 
with others, before the foundation of the world, 
these infants are mercifully spared the stern conflict 
awaiting those who are brought up for the church 
militant ; they are caught away to swell the count- 
less multitude of the church triumphant. In this 
contemplation, I see, as it were, unnumbered vic- 
tims continually rescued from the grasp of Satan, 
in those regions of the earth whose inhabitants sit 
in darkness and in the shadow of death : and I 
rejoice, that in no quarter of this magnificent globe 
is his empire perfect ; his power unresisted ; or 
the prey safe within his iron grasp. Such views 
must be, in a measure, speculative; but their foun- 
dation is the sure word of God, from which this 
sweet and soothing doctrine can very fairly be 
educed. My own mind is not troubled with a 
doubt upon the subject ; and very few things does 
this visible world afford that draw from my heart 
such a full and fervent Hallelujah, as the tiny 
24* 



282 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

coffin, with its little white pall, carried perhaps, 
under the arm of a sorrowful father, while the 
mother or sister steps behind, in tears of natural 
grief. I can weep with them, for it is a sore trial 
to a parent's heart : but over the baby I do and 
must rejoice, with joy unspeakable and full of 
glory. 

There is a little flower of exquisite dehcacy, 
which springs up among the heath and rough 
grass, in uncultivated spots. Its form is that of a 
single bell, closely resembling the Canterbury bell 
of our gardens, and its texture transparently fine. 
The stem rises perhaps two inches from the 
ground, and there, in the attitude of a snow-drop, 
depends this soft little cup, dissimilar in many re- 
spects from the well-known blue-bell of the heaths, 
and wearing the grey tint of its kindred autumnal 
sky, rather than the sprightly azure of summer. 
The aspect of this wild-flower is so infantile, so 
fragile, so etherial, that we wonder to recognize it 
among the hardy heather, and the rugged grasses 
where it usually dwells. We see it in our path 
one day; the next it is gone, leaving no perceptible 
vacancy among its thickly-spread neighbours, ex- 
cept to the eye of those who marked its lovely 
form unfolding to the bleak winds, and anticipated 
how short a sojourn such a thing of gossamer 
would make in such a clime. 

I have loved this little flower from childhood, 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 283 

and have often stepped aside to avoid placing my 
foot upon its innocent-looking head : but I never 
connected it, until very recently, with a living ob- 
ject. That association has, however, been formed ; 
and fondly shall I henceforth welcome the pale, 
solitary blue-bell of the hills — it now typifies one 
of the loveliest and most touching lioks that con- 
nect this dark, rough world with the pure and 
shining habitations above. 

They say that all babies are alike; it is not true: 
for, to one who observes them with the intense in- 
terest that they merit, there is, even among the 
newly-born, an endless, boundless variety. There 
is a trait of grandeur, proper to the offspring of 
man's majestic race, while yet unconscious of the 
workings of inbred sin, that throws over them a 
general aspect peculiar to that privileged age ; but 
it is like the sun-beam upon a garden of dewy 
flowers — a general brilliancy sparkling over all, 
and by no means affecting their individuality of 
character. None of them have yet put on the ex- 
ternal livery of Satan, though all are born in bon- 
dage to his yoke : but some have received the 
secret seal of adoption, and are passing onward to 
the kingdom of glory, never to know the defiling 
touch of the wicked one. Elect, according to the 
foreknowledge of God the Father, destined for an 
early entrance into the inheritance of the saints in 
light, born into visible existence, washed, sarictifi- 



284 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

ed, justified, by a process equally rapid, mysteri- 
ous, and sublime, ihey pass before our eyes, and 
glide away to the bosom of their God. Most hap- 
py, most privileged of all created beings, save only 
the angels who, having never fallen under the con- 
demnation of disobedience, know not the drop of 
bitterness that extorts a cry from the new-born 
babe. 

When I first saw the little one, who is now vivid- 
ly present to my mind, she was closely nestled in 
her pillow, and T hardly caught a glimpse of the 
features on which day-light had shone only for 
three weeks. From time to time, I was told of 
her singular lovehness, but she had numbered five 
months before I was able to repeat my visit. 
Never shall I forget the feelings that arose as I 
gazed upon that child. The aspect of perfect 
health, combined with strength and sprightliness 
even beyond her age, seemed fully to justify the 
sanguine anticipations of a devoted mother, that 
she should successfully rear the babe ; but every 
look that I cast upon it, brought closer to my heart 
a conviction, such as I had never felt before, re- 
specting any infant, that it could not be formed for 
earth. It was not the exquisite loveliness of the 
child, the perfection of its features, the transparent 
brilliancy of its beautiful complexion, and the sin- 
gular mouldings of its delicate limbs, which any 
sculptor might have coveted to perpetuate in ala- 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 285 

baster of kindred purity ; it was not even the tran- 
quil expression of its placid brow, not the soft 
smile that gently dimpled its little budding mouth, 
nor the assurance of its delighted mother, that so 
sweet and calm a temper she had never traced in 
any infant : No : it was a character spread over 
the babe, of something so pure, so holy, so far re- 
moved from weak and wayward mortality, that 
while I gazed on her, my tears burst forth, partly 
from the irresistible conviction that I was looking 
upon a thing of heaven, and partly from the un- 
avoidable association of those thoughts with a 
coming scene of maternal lamentation and woe. 

Does any reader deem this a fanciful impres- 
sion? then I will relate the simple fact, that subse- 
quent to the realization of my forebodings, T met 
a dear Christian friend, who told me that, having 
about the same time seen the infant, she was so 
deeply struck by what I am vainly trying to de- 
scribe, that she remarked to her husband, on leav- 
ing the house, how strong was her conviction, that 
the stamp of heaven was upon it, and that it would 
be very early removed to its home. In reply, he 
expressed his surprise that her secret thoughts 
should have so exactly corresponded w^ith his own. 

It may be asked, if in one case, the image of 
heavenly things be visible on an infant about to be 
received into glory, why not in many — in all ? I 
would reply, that among those who are taken 



286 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

home after a more lengthened pilgrimage, we 
sometimes behold extraordinary foretastes of the 
joy set before them, which they are able to com- 
municate to surrounding friends, who doubtless, 
with the church at large, experience much comfort 
and encouragement therefrom. They seem, indeed, 
to be granted for that purpose : and why should 
not a peculiar demonstration of indwelling grace 
be occasionally afforded to the watchful eye of a 
tender mother, whose infant is about to be taken 
from her bosom ; and to cheer, as it surely is cal - 
culated to do, the hearts of many mourning parents, 
who may be longing to accumulate proofs as to 
the actual manifestation of Christ's love to little 
babes, even in the flesh ? 

In this case, the Lord had emphatically lent the 
infant heirs of glory to parental care, and very 
early received them to his own kingdom. Is it 
too much to believe of him whose name is "Love," 
and whose nature is " very pitiful," that under a 
reiterated blow upon the shrinking heart of a most 
fond young mother, he should vouchsafe an es- 
pecial cordial ? was it not a sharp trial to see five 
little coffins successively borne away from her 
door, leaving but two of her household flock over 
whom to watch and to tremble ? Mothers, per- 
haps, can rightly answer this question. We do, 
most shamefully, limit the Holy One of Israel; 
and to Him alone is it known how many cups of 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 287 

Heavenly consolation are dashed from our lips, be- 
cause blind unbelief cannot discern them. 

One trait that I remarked in the beautiful babe, 
was a peculiarly pensive softness, that it was im- 
possible to regard otherwise than as the meek and 
patient yearning of the soul after something that 
was not found in objects presented to the outward 
sense. I traced it, during the several opportunities 
that I had of observing her, and could not believe 
myself mistaken. The impression was that some 
glorious things had been revealed, as in visions of 
the night, to the baby, around whom we at least 
assuredly know that those angels were busy, who 
are " ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to 
them that shall be heirs of salvation." And who 
will deny that an immortal and ransomed soul, un- 
polluted by actual sin, and on the point of crossing 
the threshold of heaven, may have perceptions, 
and enjoy revelations, quite inconceivable to us, in 
our depraved and darkened stage of perpetually 
out-breaking iniquity ? How foolish is the wisdom 
of the wise, when brought to bear upon a point of 
which neither they nor I can know anything ! 
We cannot refer to our own infancy, because — 
even if memory could, under any circumstances, 
wander so far back as to our cradles — we were not 
of the number of those to whom exclusively these 
marks apply — infants chosen to early glory, before 
the world could put in its plea for a share of them. 



288 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

The tiny bell will yet spring up among the heather, 
distinguished by its soft tint from the rougher and 
more abiding plants around it. Not formed, like 
them, to sustain the rude crush of careless foot- 
steps, we anticipate its early doom in the fragile 
tenderness of its aspect. It was not so with the 
lovely antitype : she bore the impress of health 
and longevity ; and the blight that laid her low, 
ere six months had passed over her, was no con- 
stitutional malady. I should rather trace the re- 
semblance in this, that both bore too much the 
hue of heaven to abide long on earth. What I 
mean by the hue of heaven, as regards the babe, 
was that singular expression to which I have be- 
fore alluded. Her beautiful brow was thoughtful, 
even to a careless eye ; and the grace that reigned 
in every movement of her head and limbs, was 
truly majestic. You could not study her counte- 
nance without fancying that she communed with 
a brighter world ; and that something of a calm 
sadness hung over her view of sensible things. I 
was struck by the manner in which she would 
take hold of her young brother, steadying the 
boy's face between her delicate hands, and gazing 
upon it with a kind of perplexed earnestness, as if 
other images were floating in her mind. Be it as 
it may, this we joyously know, than no sooner had 
the soft lid fallen for the last time over the clear, 
intelligent eye, than the spirit gained an accession 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 289 

of knowledge, to which the proudest attainments 
of reasoning man in his full maturity, are as the 
winding of the earth-worm through his dark and 
slimy crevices, compared with the loftiest flight 
of the eagle towards the morning sun. It is no 
questionable speculation : " I say unto you," said 
the Lord Jesus Christ, " that in heaven, their 
angels do always behold the face of my Father, 
which is in heaven." Oh, it is delicious to think 
of the rapture that is experienced by the glorified 
soul of such a one, when, mounting to the innu- 
merable company of angels, and to the spirits of 
just men made perfect, it sings the song of the re- 
deemed, at the moment of becoming acquainted 
with the mystery of redemption ! " Unto him 
that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his 
own blood," is the sound first heard, on entering 
the everlasting gates ; and then to learn the story 
of Christ's cross at the foot of Christ's throne ! to 
gaze on the Lamb that had been slain, while the 
tale of that propitiatory slaughter is drunk in 
amid the songs of heaven ! To look back upon 
the world, while its snares are first unfolded, and 
know that it is fully, and for ever escaped ! Oh, 
ye weeping mothers ! bring such thoughts as these 
to the death-beds, the cofiins, the graves of your 
happy, happy little ones, and you will feel that 
God does give you wages for nursing, through a 
few short tearful days, those children for Him. 
25 



290 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

I shall not again see the sweet infant bell of 
the heath rise up, without a tear for the gentle 
babe, through whose blue veins flowed blood not 
alien to me and mine, and whose lovely aspect 
frequently comes before me, in the silent hour, to 
melt my heart into sympathy with those who 
owned a much nearer tie : but I will look up, and 
rejoice ; for precious is her lot, and her rest is very 
glorious. 



" Beautiful baby ! art thou sleeping 

Ne'er to unclose that beaming eye ? 
Deaf to the voice of a mother's weeping, 

All unmoved by a father's sigh ! 

Wilt thou forsake the breast that bore the 

Seeking a lone, a distant spot, 
To bid the cold, damp sod close o'er thee, 

Amid the slumb'rers who waken not 1" 

Mother, loved mother, I am not sleeping ; 

Father, look up to the soft blue sky ; 
Where the glittering stars bright watch are keeping, 

Singing and shining, there am I. 

Warm was the tender breast that bore me ; 

'Twas sweet, my mother, to rest with thee : 
But I was chosen — thou must restore me. 

To the fonder bosom that bled for me. 

I lingered below, till just discerning 

My father's voice, and my mother's smile ; 

Love's infant lesson my heart was learning. 
But oft my spirit was sad the while. 



THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 291 

Hast thou ne'er marked thy baby dreaming ? 

Sawest thou no radiance o'er her spread » 
Oh, rich and pure were the bright rays streaming, 

The songs of heaven were round my bed. 

And when I waked, though thou wast bending 
With looks almost like my sunny dreams, 

My soul to that softer world was tending, 
My home was still with the songs and beams. 

My brothers — my heart grew daily fonder, 
When gazing on each young smiling face. 

But I yearned for the brothers, who, sparkling yonder, 
Had sung to me oft, from their beauteous place. 

Oh ! many a lonely hour of weeping 

Thou hast past by their forsaken bed ; 
But sorrow no more, they are not sleeping, 

They linger not with the silent dead. 

Could I show thee mine, and my brothers' dwelling, 
Could I sing thee the songs we are singing here, 

Could I tell thee the tales that we are telling. 
Oh where, my mother, would be thy tear ! 

For we on milk-white wings are sailing. 
Where rainbow tints surrounded the throne. 

And while bright seraphs their eyes are veiling, 
We see the face of the Holy One. 

And we, when heaven's high arch rejoices 
With thundering notes of raptured praise. 

We, thine own babes, with loud sweet voices, 
The frequent hallelujah raise. 

And we, oh, we are closely pressing 

Where stands the Lamb for sinners slain :— 



292 THE PALE BELL OF THE HEATH. 

Hark ! " Glory, honour, power and blessing," 
Away I we are called to swell the strain. 

Mother, loved Mother, we are not sleeping ; 

Father, look up where the bright stars be ; 
Where all the planets their watch are keeping, 

Singing and shining there are we ! 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 



The Guernsey Lily may not be known to all my 
readers ; but those who have seen it will admit its 
claim to rank with the most beautiful of that ele- 
gant family. Rising in a slender stem of reddish 
hue, without the slightest appearance of any thing 
resembling a leaf, it shoots up, exhibiting a dull- 
looking sort of blossom, from which, in time, es- 
cape as from a cell, numerous other buds, all 
wearing the same dusky aspect. So far, all is 
unpromising enough ; but on a sudden, out bursts 
such a display of beauty, as the eye cannot soon 
weary of. From the top of the single stem, 
flower-stalks branch off, to the number of eight, 
each bearing a lily of the most glowing rose- 
colour, and rivalling in form any production that 
our parterre or conservatory can bring to compete 
the prize of elegance. Each flower would be a 
star with six points, did not the graceful curl of 
the petals bending backwards, change its character; 
and when I contrast the splendid magnificence of 
25* 



294 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

the expanded cluster with its embryo appearance, 
I am lost in admiration. 

This beautiful lily had long been a favourite, but 
for years past I had not possessed one. A dear 
friend in the Lord, though personally a stranger, 
inhabiting one of the lovely isles where the flower 
is naturalized, was tempted by the tale of my lost 
verbena, to send me one of her own rearing, across 
the sea; while another sister, both loved and 
known, added half a dozen roots of the Lily, just 
on the point of throwing out their flower-stalks. 
I potted the little treasures in a mass, and soon 
after left home for a few days . Returning, I was 
delighted to find my Lihes in full expansion : and 
as I gazed upon the clusters glowing in beauty and 
grace, I could not but exclaim, " No ; Solomon in 
all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." 

The transition is so easy and natural, as to be 
in my mind almost inevitable, from the contem- 
plation of a folded and dusky blossom thus sud- 
denly assuming its station among other plants, a 
bright and perfect flower, to that of a spirit, burs- 
ting its mortal enclosure, and standing, arrayed in 
celestial glory, among the redeemed ones who 
encircle the throne of the Most High. Propor- 
tioned to the sharpness of their trials, and the 
gloom of their earthly lot, is the delight that ac- 
companies this consideration ; and if the flower be 
like my Guernsey Lily, of a very uninviting as- 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 295 

pect until it becomes exquisitely beautiful, the 
mind will revert to some of the abject poor of this 
world, rich in faith, who were heirs, and are now 
occupants, of the kingdom of heaven. Such a 
case is forcibly brought to my recollection at this 
moment : and I will not withhold it. 

xibout four years and a half ago, I was invited 
by a young friend of noble family to accompany 
him into his favourite haunt — St. Giles's. The 
transition was certainly calculated to strike any 
mind with double effect; for we left a splendid 
mansion, in one of the great squares of the ex- 
treme west, where all was princely within, and a 
bright sunshine flashing as we passed into the 
street from the gay equipages that rolled along, 
and walked towards Bloomsbury beneath gather- 
ing clouds, which, just as we approached the con- 
fines of the Irish district, descended on us in a 
drizzling rain, more uncomfortable than a smart 
shower would have been. Those, and those 
alone, who have trod the mazes of St. Giles's, 
can conceive the effect produced on my feelings, 
when I found myself within its narrow streets, 
bordered with their dreary-looking tenements : 
every fourth or fifth step bringing me on the verge 
of an abrupt flight of almost perpendicular stairs, 
terminating in a low^-roofed cellar, the abode of as 
many squalid outcasts as could congregate within 
its walls ; while above, wretchedness, vice, and 



296 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

desperation looked out, in all their forms, from 
windows, or rather window-frames, where the lit- 
tle glass that remained seemed but a receptacle 
for all the filth that could accumulate upon it. 
There is, at this day, in some of those streets, 
what may be called an improvement, compared 
with their aspect four years ago : but strong must 
be the nerves, or most obdurate the feelings of him 
who, even now, could pace those dreadful haunts 
of misery and crime without a shuddering wish to 
be again beyond their boundary. To me, the 
scene was not new ; but I had rarely ventured far 
into it ; and it was with a heavy depression of 
spirits that I followed closely the steps of my con- 
ductor, where two could not find space to walk 
abreast. The state of the pavement, even in fine 
weather, defies the most circumspect to escape 
defilement from the mixture of every thing that 
can render it unclean ; and the effect of a shower 
is any thing but purifying in those regions. St. 
Giles's enveloped in a drizzling mist immediately 

after B Square in the sunshine ! Who can 

describe it ? 

At length my friend paused, and to my no small 
dismay, conducted me into what was evidently a 
dram-shop of the lowest character. Before the 
door were assembled some half-dozen of ragged 
wild-looking young men, engaged in a gambling 
speculation at pitch-and-toss, evidently with excited 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 297 

passions, which found vent in imprecations, uttered 
in Irish, with an occasional kick or blow. The 
faces that laughed upon me, from within the low, 
wide, well-glazed windows, were yet more appall- 
ing to my sight : but I was ashamed to draw back, 
— M. had told me that we were to convey relief 
to a suffering child of God ; and on such a mis- 
sion, to a sick, persecuted convert from popery 
too, we might reckon on whatever discouragement 
the enemy was permitted to cast across our path. 
We walked hastily through a long passage, leav- 
ing the tap-room on our left, and mounted some 
wide stairs ; then turned to a narrow flight, half- 
way up which, all being dark, M. tapped at a side- 
door. It was opened by a woman of no very pre- 
possessing countenance, although her manner dis- 
played the excess of servility and adulation. M. 
passed her, advancing to a low bedstead, where 
lay an old man, whose noble expansion of fore- 
head, and singularly fine countenance attracted me 
at once ; but when he put forth his hands, to clasp 
that of his benefactor, I drew back with horror 
from a spectacle such as I never before or since 
beheld. The old man had suffered from rheuma- 
tism in so dreadful a degree, that the last joint of 
each finger was reversed, or bent backward, so as 
to make the ends stand out in a most fn'orhtful man- 
ner, the second or middle joint being as firmly fix- 
ed in a crooked position, as though the fingers 



298 THU GUERNSEY LILY. 

were made of metal: the thumbs also turned 
back. A pair of large bony hands thus formed, 
or rather deformed, and stretched out to seize be- 
tween them the hand of another person, was real- 
ly a terrific spectacle to one who had never beheld 
such a thing, and I became so nervous, that M. 
covered them with a portion of the scanty bed- 
clothes, and gently requested O'Neil not to let me 
see them again. His feet were, I was told, in a 
more painful state of distortion. 

The room was perfectly bare, save an old chest, 
a broken chair, and a stool ; an iron pot for pota- 
toes, and a basin, and a plate. It was perfectly 
clean, nevertheless, and recently white-washed, 
which gave it a more comfortable appearance than 
most of the abodes in that place. My attention, 
however, was soon so completely engrossed by 
O'Neil's discourse, that I had little leisure for 
other remarks. He was aged ; but when raised 
in his bed, I thought I never had beheld a more 
imposing countenance and manner : there was 
much of genuine dignity, and consciousness of for- 
mer respectabihty in station, and superior mental 
endowment ; much information ; a flow of well- 
chosen language, and sometimes a touching allu- 
sion to his destitute state, as having proceeded 
from the death of an only and affectionate son, 
who had contributed largely to his support. But 
the one object on which O'Neil shone out with 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 299 

Striking lustre was the finished work of tne Lord 
Jesus Christ. It was not the studied language of 
a man who can speak well on a subject where he 
has thought much — it was the overflow of a full 
heart, which had felt much. His utter abhorrence 
of himself, as a lost sinner, his unqualified and 
shuddering renunciation of all the merit-monger- 
ing work of popery ; his fervent, passionate ap- 
peals, with uplifted eyes and streaming tears, for 
more of the Holy Spirit's teaching ; and his tor- 
rents of adoring thanksgiving for the redeeming 
love which had paid so costly a price for the ran- 
som of his soul, when no help was to be found 
save in that atonement — all spoke the humbled, 
convinced, seeking, rejoicing believer in Christ 
Jesus. He was energetic, to a degree that would 
have been deemed too vehement in an English- 
man ; but O'Neil was thoroughly Irish, as I soon 
found, when, on my subsequent visits, I took an 
Irish reader to him. He was indeed quite a 
scholar in that tongue ; and it was most affecting 
to behold his crippled, distorted, fingers contriving 
to retain within their grasp the blessed Book, and 
to turn over its pages. 

I soon found that O'Neil's wife had a sad pro- 
pensity for strong drink ; and that the donations 
bestowed, in money or linen, on this interesting 
character, too generally found their way to the 
tap-room below. The noble lady, whose mansion 



300 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

I had just left, had placed in my hanas a sum of 
money, for the use of her poor countrymen in St. 
Giles's ; and I resolved that out of this I would 
regularly supply O'Neil with nutriment proper for 
his weak state. I thank God, I was able, from 
one source or another, to continue it up to the 
time of his death, more than two years after. My 
dislike of his poor crooked fingers soon vanished ; 
and many, oh many a day have I run up the long 
passage, and mounted the stairs, and placed my- 
self on the old box, with one of those formidable 
hands clasping mine, while I read or talked to the 
dear old saint about his glorious Redeemer. The 
daily pittance of soup, or milk, with bread, soon 
nourished him into better health ; and the little 
service of being the medium through which the 
bounty of others reached him, won for me such a 
warm niche in his Irish heart, that it almost 
amounted to idolatry. 

To such a place I could not, of course, go 
alone ; but the privilege of visiting O'Neil was 
sought for by so many, that I never lacked a com- 
panion. The dear Pastor of the Irish Church in 
that place delighted in him ; and unbounded w^as 
O'Neil's affection for Mr. B. But though he was 
exposed to so much notice as might try the Chris- 
tian humility of any man, O'Neil lay quiet at the 
foot of the cross, glorying in that alone. He had 
some habits that gave offence to persons of vari- 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 301 

ous characters ; but I liked them all. One was 
what is irreverently called craw-thunnping. Every 
one knows that the poor Romanist, at confession, 
is instructed to strike hard upon his breast with 
the right fist, as a sign of contrition ; and this 
practice O'Neil never laid aside. His self-con- 
demnation, and his prayers for divine teaching, 
were accompanied with so many blows from his 
poor hand, that I have seen some of the Irish rea- 
ders in no small commotion about it — disposed to 
question the reality of his conversion, while so 
shockingly popish a habit was retained. To me 
it bespoke the sincerity of the man, far more clear- 
ly than its abandonment could have done. An- 
other foible was his extreme politeness : when 
friends entered, he would, raising himself in the 
bed, call to his wife to place the box here, and the 
chair there, and the stool beside it, and, waving 
his hand with the most ceremonious and courteous 
gesture, he would direct the process of seating the 
company ; then, from beneath his pillow, draw 
forth an antique horn snuff-box, and pass it round 
with an air wholly inimitable. More than one 
good person has said to me, in this stage of the 
business, ' The man is all artificial : what has a 
beggar to do with such absurd forms V To which 
T have replied, ' O'Neil is not going to beg of i/ou ; 
so be quiet, and take a lesson in good manners.' 
I never knew any one leave him under other im- 
26 



302 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

pression than that he was simple sincerity person- 
ified. 

It pleased God to let me labour among those 
dear outcasts for months together ; but after a 
time my residence was changed, and I made few 
visits there. Still, so far as my charity purse 
served, through the help of richer friends, my pen- 
sioners were regularly attended to ; and D., belov- 
ed D., was the overseer of the work. The chole- 
ra came, and swept away many an Irish beggar 
out of wretched St. Giles's, and the malignant 
fever carried away many more. D. fell beneath 
the latter. I followed his remains to the grave ; 
and seeing some of my poor people bending over 
it in an agony of unrestrained sorrow, my heart 
was stirred up to visit them during the few hours 
of my stay in town. I took a clerical friend with 
me, and plunged at once into the doubly desolate 
scenes that I had too long been estranged from. 

With some difficulty,, in a most wretched garret, 
immeasurably inferior to his former lodging, I 
found O'Neil. He lay almost on the bare ground, 
without a vestige of any earthly comfort. Even 
the cleanliness that had always marked his appear- 
ance, was gone. He could not lift his head from 
the pillow of rags ; but when I spoke, he clasped 
my hand within his trembling, crooked fingers, and 
sobbed his blessings for the daily pittance of milk 
and bread. He then told us that, during the illness 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 303 

of D. he had been attacked by cholera, had been 
in the hospital, as a most desperate case, had been 
brought through it, and returned to his garret to 
linger out as before. It did indeed appear most 
wonderful that such an object could have survived 
the attack ; and unbelief almost repined at it. I 
mean my unbelief : for O'Neil, though with scarce- 
ly power to strike his withered hand upon his 
breast, was as low in self-abasement, as energetic 
in the faith that is in Christ Jesus, as ever : and 
no less willing to stay than prepared to go. 

My companion was much struck with the old 
man ; he talked long, and then prayed with him ; 
and afterwards added his most unequivocal testi- 
mony to that of the many who had formerly visited 
him. It was my last interview with O'Neil ; but 
I had the comfort of knowing that he enjoyed the 
daily portion of nourishment, and the pastoral 
cares of his beloved minister. It was a welcome 
communication which told me, twelve months af- 
terwards, that he had departed in a state of un- 
speakable rejoicing, to be with Christ for ever. 
His death was remarkable for the vivid realization 
that he enjoyed of future glory, strikingly contrast- 
ed with the humility and self-suspicion that had 
formerly characterized him, I remember once 
taking a Christian divine to visit him, who preach- 
ed up personal assurance as an indispensable evi- 
dence of saving faith ; but all his expostulations could 



304 THE GUERNSEY LIL^Y. 

not extort from O'Neil a stronger word than *I 
hope,' as regarded his eternal inheritance.' ' Are 
you going to heaven, O'Neil V ' I hope, through 
the precious blood of my Redeemer, that I am, 
sir.' ' That is not enough : you must be sure of 
it. ' I am sure, sir, that Christ came to save such 
sinners as me ; and I am sure I desire to be saved 
by Him ; and I hope He will save me, sir.' 
' Why, have you not the earnest of the Spirit ? 
I hope I have, sir.' At last my friend plainly, 
told him that his state was far from satisfactory ; 
the tears streamed from the poor old man's eyes, 
and repeatedly he struck his breast ; but all that 
he would utter was the ejaculation : — ' I hope — I 
hope He will save me ! I took care to run back 
to his-bed side, when the others were departing, 
and to tell him that his hope would never make 
him ashamed ; and that though assurance might 
be a privilege, it was no test of saving faith. 
Dear O'Neil enjoyed it at last, though if his latest 
breath had been but an ' I hope,' I should be just 
as well satisfied concerning him. 

My beautiful Guernsey Lilies — what is their 
exquisite dress to that in which old Patrick O'Neil, 
the Irish beggar of St. Giles's, now shines ! 
*' Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like 
one of these :" but all the glory of this gorgeous 
creation affords not a type for that in which the 
redeemed soul stands complete before God. I 



THE GUERNSEY LILY. 305 

know not the exact spot where the distorted joints 
of the old Irishman now moulder into dust; but 
well I know that thence shall arise a being fashioned 
like unto Christ's glorious body. The form that 
wears the white robe, bleached in the blood of the 
Lamb, will not bend under the burden of disease ; 
the hand that tunes a celestial harp will be pained 
and crippled no more ; neither smite upon the 
breast in the anguish of self-accusing compunction. 
My poor O'Neil, now rich with inexhaustible 
treasures, has already changed ' I believe' into ' I 
see,' and * I hope' into ' I possess.' The bountiful 
lady whose alms first enabled me to nourish him, 
is with him there : and D. who ministered like a 
comforting anorel unto him in the dark dungeons of 
St. Giles's, is likewise " made equal unto the 
angels," and joining their hallelujahs in the courts 
of heaven. Howels, whose energetic plea from 
the pulpit once poured upwards of fifty pounds 
into my St. Giles's purse, is there too ; ' an in-door 
servant,' according to his own beautiful, dying 
thought, rejoicing among the souls which he help- 
ed to gather in. And now what matters it, 
whether like that titled lady they lived in princely 
halls, faring sumptuously every day, or like O'Neil, 
received at the hand of charity a daily dole in a 
garret : whether like Howels they formed the cen- 
tre and chief of an admiring congregation, "known 
and read of all men," or like D. paced the darken- 
26* 



306 THE GUERNSEY LILY. 

ed streets, and obscure alleys, to do good by stealth, 
concealing from the left hand the works of the 
right ! All were the Lord's dear children ; all 
glorified Him where he had seen good to place 
them. Affluence and destitution, beauty and dis- 
tortion, health and disease, fame and obscurity, all 
were blessed ; all made a blessing, through the 
grace of God in Christ Jesus. Go then, dear 
reader, and give thanks unto the Lord for your lot, 
whatsoever it be ; and pray, like poor O'Neil, for 
the teaching of the divine Spirit, that your body 
may become a holy temple unto Him, and that 
your soul may be saved in the. day of the Lord 
Jesus Christ. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



THE IVY. 



Two winters of singular mildness had led me so 
far to forget the general characteristics of that 
dreary season, that when the customary blight fell, 
somewhat abruptly, on the vegetable world, it 
startled me to find my garden metamorphosed into 
a desert. The tall dahlias stood, full-leaved as 
before ; but the verdant robe of yesterday had 
been changed into gloomy blackness, and stems 
that lately seemed to suppprt some perennial shrub, 
were indebted only to the stakes to which we had 
bound them for the upright position they still 
maintained. The China rose-trees, with which 
my garden abounds, presented a less forlorn aspect, 
because their evergreen mantle was proof against 
the power of frost ; but their numerous buds, love- 
ly and fresh when the setting sun-beam last linger- 
ed among them, had drooped their dehcate heads 
in death. I walked on, marking as I passed, two 
little flowers of the lowly heart's ease in untarnish- 
ed beauty, smiling at the foot of one of these lofty 



308 THE IVY 

but disfigured rose-trees ; and proceeded to the 
spot where my lauristinus, lifting its vigorous head 
in calm defiance of every blight, was putting out 
its white buds with more than their wonted profu- 
sion ; and there I stood in happy reverie, thinking 
of the spirit made perfect, of him whom the shrub 
typifies in my imagination — that devoted old ser- 
vant of Christ, Charles Seymour, who long glad- 
dened the western wild of poor Ireland with the 
riches of gospel promise, set forth in her ancient 
tongue — until my eye wandered to the wall just 
behind it, which, stretching to some distance on 
either hand, wears a vestige of Ivy, the growth of 
many years ; of bushy thickness towards the top, 
where it crowns its supporter with the dark polished 
berries that beautifully accord with the whole 
character of the plant. The lauristinus, mingling 
its upper branches with this ancient friend, appears 
as of one family, yet different and distinguished n 
a striking manner. I looked until my tears flowed, 
for the power of imagination was irrisistible, and 
the scene which opened on my mind was one of 
overwhelming interest. 

I am not writing fiction ; the objects that I 
describe are within my view at this moment, dis- 
tantly visible from my window, and their relative 
position is precisely what I have stated. But, 
standing close beside them, under the influence of 
the wintry air that had desolated the scene around, 



THE IVY. 309 

while seared leaves, wafted from the tall trees 
above my head, were sinking at my feet, never 
more to rise from their parent earth — all these 
things gave a reality to the contem.plation not to 
be felt under other circumstances ; and I record 
my feelings without expecting any reader to enter 
into their depth. 

The Ivy, as I have formerly observed, is to me 
a lively representation of the work and the power 
of faith. Its strength consists in the tenacity with 
which it clings to something foreign to its own 
substance, identifying itself, by a wonderful pro- 
cess, with what it adheres to. Alone, it cannot 
stand : if you tear it from its prop, down must fall 
every branch, at the mercy of any trampling foot 
of man or beast. The analogy in my mind was 
perfect : there stood the two plants, one, rooted in 
distinct individuality, needing no prop, fearing no 
foe, adorned with a white, a beauteous robe, woven 
by the finger of God ; the other, strong only in 
conscious weakness, sombre in hue, its very fruit 
clad in the mourning tint of affliction, yet tending 
upwards, clustering in fulness proportioned to its 
growth, and braving every blast in the confidence 
of its firm fixture to that which could not be 
moved. — What had I before my eyes, but one 
glorified member of the triumphant church above 
and the afflicted, yet highly privileged body of his 



310 THE IVY. 

own dear brethren, the Churcli of Ireland militant 
here below ! 

Militant is the distinguishing epithet of Christ's 
church, and of each individual belonging unto it, 
until the warfare being accomplished, the good 
fight fought, and faith kept unto death, the crown 
of righteousness is awarded, and the happy spirit 
becomes incorporated with the church triumphant 
in heaven. The little babe, whose short breathings 
are oppressed, and its tiny frame faintly struggling 
through the few days of its sojourn on earth, is 
militant here below. The strong youth, robust in 
health, whose eye sparkles in promise of long and 
active existence, while his heart, renewed by the 
secret injfluences of divine grace, witnesses a con- 
flict hidden from mortal eye, between the law of 
life written therein, and the law of sin warring in 
his members, is militant here below. The man 
of full and sobered age, who has numbered, per- 
haps, more than half the longest probable duration 
of human life, who looks round, it may be, on a 
blooming family of loving and dutiful children, 
while his soul, bound down by those delicious ties, 
cleaves to the dust, when he would have it mount 
upward to the throne of God — howsoever smooth 
and blissful his lot may seem, is militant here be- 
low. The aged servant of Christ, who has borne 
in the vineyard the heat and burden of the day — 
the faithful veteran, who, in many a contest with 



THE IVY» 311 

his Master's foes, has come off more than con- 
queror, through him who loved him : and who, 
tottering now on life's extremest verge, is regarded 
as most triumphantly secure of his crown, most 
enviably nearer to heaven — he too has fightings 
without and fears within ; he too, while the body 
still detains him, is militant here below. 

The universal acknowledgement of all, whether 
uttered by the lips, or secretely made in the heart's 
recesses, in that voice of which God alone is cog- 
nizant, is ever, '' We in this tabernacle do groan, 
being burdened." I have known some dear self- 
doubling children of Zion go heavily in perpetual 
grief, merely because no outward cross was, at 
that particular time, laid on them. A somewhat 
closer acquaintance with God and with themselves 
has never failed, in such cases, to convince them 
that He, not they, was the best judge when, and 
how, and of what kind the discipline prepared for 
them should be. But the very apprehension en- 
gendered by such supposed exclusion from the 
badge of His servants, was in itself, no light 
cross ; and they, contending against their own 
misgivings, were equally militant here below. 

If such be the general experience of those 
most highly favoured in external things, what shall 
we say of such as, like the winter Ivy, stand ex- 
posed to the fiercest assaults of blight, and blast, 
and storm, and external desolation, that the ele- 



312 TPIE TVY. 

merits of earth, directed by the permitted fury of 
evil spirits, can bring to bear on their unsheltered 
heads ! The condition of those faithful men, who 
at this moment are doing the work of evangelists 
in that branch of the Protestant church established 
in Ireland, will be a matter of history, for future 
generations to marvel at, when the patient suffer- 
ers shall be numbered with the saints in glory 
everlasting, when every tear shall have been wiped 
from their faces, and the Lamb be visibly reigning 
in the midst of them for ever. Yet even these 
ephemeral pages shall record it too ; and while 
suffering, as indeed I do, continual sorrow and 
heaviness in my heart for our brethren's sake, I 
will not refuse the consolations that abound on 
their behalf, in tracing the beautiful analogy that 
certainly exists between the natural world, as 
under the Providential government of its Creator, 
and the spiritual world of regenerate men, as 
more richly provided for in the covenant of grace. 
If I look upon that which is seen, how sad is 
the wintry state of my poor Ivy ! Some lofty 
trees planted near it have cast a goodly shadow 
upon it, yielding defence, alike from the burning 
ray, and the rending gale. I have seen them 
stand long, like appointed guardians, and if the 
defence of the Ivy had depended on their fidelity 
to the trust, alas for it in this day of calamity ! 
The trees have withdrawn their shade— they stand 



THE IVY. 313 

in naked helplessness, themselves driven to and 
fro, whithersoever the prince of the power of the 
air is pleased to bend their denuded and dishon- 
oured branches. The pelting hail, the heavy 
snow-drift, meet no obstruction from them, in 
their full career against the unprotected Ivy. It 
stands exposed, and in itself so weak a thing that 
the operation of a single blustering day would 
suffice to rend it piecemeal, only for the unseen 
support enabling it to smile a calm defiance in the 
face of every assailant. And could any type be 
more impressively just, as regards the truly mili- 
tant church of Ireland at this day ? I shall say 
nothing about the towering trees ; they have the 
advantage over sentient and responsible men, in 
that they never proffered their patronage in sum- 
mer days, nor consciously withdrew it, when the 
"wintry tempest began to rage. I reproach not the 
innocent trees of my garden ; but I acknowledge 
the fitness of their station, and of their mutability, 
to render the similitude perfect. The Ivy is that 
wherewith I have to do ; the Ivy in its two-fold 
character of actual weakness, and imparted 
strength — of stormy persecution applied from 
without, and indestructible endurance supplied 
from within. 

The real and acknowledged condition of many, 
and, in the south, a large majority, of the devoted 

ministers of the Irish church at this day, is such, 
27 



314 THE IVY. 

that I shrink from the picture which I am never- 
theless bound to transcribe. They are impover- 
ished beyond the possibility of making such pro- 
vision as the meanest of our cottagers is accus- 
tomed to secure, against the approach of winter. 
They cannot clothe the shivering limbs of their 
tender little ones — they cannot supply them with 
nourishment equivalent to the scantiest allowance 
of our parochial workhouse — they cannot, in many 
instances, afford the luxury of a fire, beyond the hour 
that it is indispensable for cooking their miserable 
dole of dry potatoes. I have the fact from author- 
ity that cannot be questioned, from one who, mer-' 
cifully provided with the resource of a private 
income, goes among his brethren to minister to 
their pressing necessities as far as the claims of 
his own very large family will allow. I have it 
from different and distant quarters, from individuals 
unconnected with each other, and unconscious of 
the concurrent testimony that they yield. The Ivy 
on my garden wall is not more destitute of exter 
nal defence against the biting inclemency of De- 
cember, than are multitudes of those whose de- 
lightful work it has ever been, when they saw the 
hungry, to feed them, to cover the naked with a 
garment, and to bring those who were cast out to 
their own hospitable homes. Their acknowledged 
right — that, at least, which the government of the 
country has appointed to them, and, for generations 



THE IVY. 315 

past, guaranteed its due payment — is withheld in 
vaunting defiance of that government, which, 
while meekly acquiescing in the sovereign will of 
rebellious subjects, offers no substitute for what 
their loyal ministers are defrauded of : but leaves 
them to famish, literally to starve to death, with 
their children around them, until the senators of 
the land shall have enjoyed their accustomed sea- 
son of repose, and an arrangement shall take 
place among contending parties, by which the 
question of tithe may be ultimately adjusted. I 
venture not on political ground ; I have but to 
state the broad fact that the clergy of Ireland are 
starving : and that the sole support to which they 
and their numerous household can look, for the 
dreary season already set in upon us, is the spon- 
taneous bounty of sympathizing friends in that 
part of the church which as yet tastes not the cup 
of external persecution. I know, and I bless God 
for it, that a stream of Christian liberahty is flow- 
ing towards their desolated dwellings ; but even 
the extremity of personal want does not end their 
sufferings. They dwell among those who are 
confederate against their lives ; and who, if the 
olan of salvation be baffled by our means, may 
again wet the knife, and aim the bullet, and 
brandish the heavy stone — weapons that, have 
each and all, within a short space of time, been 
crimsoned with the life-blood of Protestant clergy- 



316 THE IVY. 

men. These are the storms and the tempests to 
which my brethren stand exposed in the defence- 
lessness of individual weakness. Their children 
cry for food ; and that we may provide for them : 
they shiver beneath the wintry blast, they shrink 
from the piercing frost ; and we may clothe their 
limbs and rekindle their fires, from our own com- 
parative abundance — but the parents' heart, though 
by grace it may be so humbled as not to reject a 
gift, painful for the educated mind, will yet secret- 
ly quake under the anticipated horror of that from 
which loe cannot interpose to rescue them. The 
step of the midnight incendiary, of the sworn as- 
sassin, blessed to the deed of butchery by her 
who has so oft been drunk with the blood of the 
saints, will be fancied in every breeze that rustles 
among the branches : and the closer we examine 
the picture, the darker do its shades become — the 
more appalling those perils, in the midst of which 
our brethren are set for the defence of the gospel. 
The Gospel — precious word ! It is the power 
of Him who says, " The Lord hath anointed me 
to preach good tidings unto the meek ; he hath 
sent me to bind up the broken-hearted ; to com- 
fort all that mourn ; to appoint unto them th^ 
mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for 
ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of 
praise for the spirit of heaviness ; that they might 
be called trees of righteousness, the planting of 



THE IVY. 817 

the Lord, that He might be glorified." And 
glorified he is in them. The fruit which they 
bear is indeed clad in the hue of affliction, for his 
poor Church is militant against many foes, and 
exceedingly pressed above measure, seeming to 
have the sentence of death in themselves ; but he 
gives them a spirit of patient endurance, inexpli- 
cable in some cases but by the great mystery of 
faith, whereby, adhering to the Rock that cannot 
be moved, they derive strength according to their 
day. They stand, a miracle of supporting grace, 
" as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing ; as poor, yet 
making many rich, as having nothing, and yet 
possessing all things." 

Many years ago, I planted an Ivy, and watched 
its growth with childish interest. Having fixed its 
root firmly in the soil, it speedily put forth shoots ; 
and as these grew, the short stout fibres appeared, 
grasping the rough particles of an ancient wall, 
plunging into every little crevice, and securing 
themselves by a process that excited my wonder 
beyond any thing that I can remember, at that 
period of my life. I have pulled away the young 
branches, endeavouring to refix them in a different 
position, but in vain : the w^ork of adhesion was 
one that human skill could not accompHsh, nor hu- 
man power compel. The utmost that I could do 
was to afford an artificial support to the detached 

branch, until, having continued its growth, it put 

27* 



818 THE IVT. 

out new fingers, as I called them, to take a stron- 
ger hold on its bulwark. This might be very apt- 
ly illustrated by the past history of a Church, 
where faith might have become dead, as regarded 
a race of individuals; but where, by that aid from 
without which may God in his mercy ever dispose 
the State to extend in the Church ! better days 
were provided for ; and the visible branch restored 
to its pristine beauty and strength, through faith 
newly infused into the members, enabling them to 
cleave wholly to Christ. But my present business 
is with the Ivy in its mature state, upheld by the 
might of its immoveable supporter — with the per- 
secuted men of whom it is a lively type ; who, in 
the midst of all that renders the present agonizing, 
and the future terrific, can adapt the language of 
inspired Paul, " None of these things move me ; 
neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I 
might finish my course with joy, and the ministry 
which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testi- 
fy the gospel of the grace of God." Herein lies 
the mystery of that patient endurance, the deep 
and general silence of which made the very exis 
tence of their distress questionable among us. 
" To testify the gospel of tlie grace of God," wag 
the object and end of all their labours ; and their 
willing task it was, after Paul's example, to learn, 
in whatsoever state they were, therewith to br. 
content — they would know both how to be abased, 



THE IVY. 319 

and know how to abound ; everywhere, and in all 
things, they were instructed, both to be full and to 
be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. 
Yea, they can do all things through Chrlst 

WHICH STRENGTHENETH THEM. It is by close 

communion with Him that his afflicted servants 
are enabled thus to glorify God in the day of visi- 
tation — to glorify him in the fires. He has taught 
them that he careth for them : and they, unreserv- 
edly, cast every care upon him ; yet like Paul, to 
the beloved Philippians, they will say unto us, 
" Notwithstanding, ye have well done, that ye did 
communicate with my affliction." Oh that we 
could rightly appreciate the value of such an ex- 
ample at our very doors, of suffering according to 
the will of God ! But all cannot realize the 
scenes now enacting in poor Ireland ; and few 
there are whom I could invite to weep with me 
beneath the storm-beaten Ivy. 

But what a spectacle does it present in the sight 
of that great cloud of witnessess who encompass 
it ! They, who through faith and patience, have 
already inherited the promises, how must they re- 
joice over their militant brethren, marching on- 
ward, through much tribulation, to swell the army 
of that church triumphant ? Bodily anguish, 
cold, hunger, and the yet more grievous pain of 
beholding those dependent on them sharing in 
their privations — mental inquietude, as to the 



320 THE IVY. 

future lot in life of their destitute little ones, will 
force itself on their anxious thought — ^abandon- 
ment on the one hand, on the other, barbarous 
exultation ; the muttered curse of the vindictive, 
deluded peasant, the heartless scoff, and ribald 
jest of the far more degraded, though flattered and 
pensioned poet — these are the lot of men of whom 
the world is not worthy ; and cruel they are to 
poor shrinking humanity. But they endure as 
seeing Him who is invisible, and though now they 
prophesy in sackcloth, and by and by they may be 
slain, still Christ has prepared for them a kingdom, 
which, after a little while they shall receive, be- 
coming kings and priests unto God. 

It is of those who, like the Ivy, cling by living 
faith unto the Rock of salvation, that I thus speak, 
I speak not of the Church, nor of her ministry, as 
though an outward profession, or formal ordination, 
could knit the soul to Christ. There is dross in 
the furnace no less than gold. Many suffer com- 
pulsorily, who would not endure an hour's afflic- 
tion for Christ and his gospel. But the patient 
servants of God are known unto Him : and they 
are so many as now to characterize the whole 
Church. Some straggling shoots disfigure my 
Ivy, which hang upon it but to be lopped off; yet 
the plant clings to its supporter, and those unsight- 
ly exceptions alter it not. It looks green ; and its 
Dolished leaves, dark in themselves, reflect the 



THE IVY. 321 

brightness of day. I know that the appointed 
season of winter must endure for a while : but I 
also know that the spring-tide shall not fail. A 
time of refreshing shall come from the presence 
of the Lord, to bid his suffering saints rejoice, 
"Then the ransomed of the Lord shall return, 
and come to Zion with songs, and everlasting joy, 
upon their heads : they shall obtain gladness and 
joy, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away." 



THE END. 



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